A journey from a city to a small town,
And I thought... I would go down,
(I was nervous, not too many adventurous bones,
Not everyone, after all, is Indiana Jones..)
A rickety-rackety propeller plane ride,
Tossed and hurled me from side to side.
Amidst jets that sniggered and scoffed,
The propeller plane, nonchalantly, took off.
The gall of the small contraption,
Of their majestic magnitude, just a fraction.
A take off with a war cry,
A noisy leap into the sky.
And though perhaps lagging in the race,
He chugged at his own pace…
He rocked and he plunged,
He plunged and he lunged,
He shuddered and he swayed…
Rather unsteady all the way.
Bullied oft, by clouds of turbulence,
That looked menacingly dark and intense.
But all the while, in tune, in sync,
With the wind beneath his wings...
And though I thought he would nose dive,
We landed and we arrived!
Interesting it was to see him share space,
In the hangar, in the sky, while defining his own place.
A poem I wrote years ago
