Hark! The rhythm

Hark! The rhythm. The pellet drum rattles. The dance begins. The creation, the annihilation, the fleeing in-betweens, and beyond these appar...

Saturday, March 2, 2013

Comrades


I met her first at the bus stop.
And now we meet there daily.
Exchange silent acknowledgments.
Sync our actions.
Let go of the too crowded ones (together)
Hail those with breathing space (she does that)
And when the bus stops,
I lead, pull her in with me, and call out for two passes.
(I am tall and that helps)
I stand by the door; she blends in those arms, elbows and bags.
I look back before getting down.
There. In the ladies zone.
Hooked to her earphones.
We smile together.
And the bus drives away.
We meet tomorrow again.

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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.