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jrae Mar 7
Bleary-eyed, an old man asks for change,
coins rattling in his hand. A woman
hands him saltine crackers across the aisle.
“God bless you,” he mutters, takes a seat,
and unwraps the plastic with shaking hands.
He smiles at her before she leaves the train.

Tonight, the passengers on the train
are surprisingly quiet for a change.
We are all staring down at our hands.
And then the silence breaks - a woman
cackles aloud to herself in her seat.
Her laughter travels up and down the aisle.

I overhear a conversation across the aisle
between a couple who’ve just entered the train,
and are searching for a pair of empty seats.
They’re muttering “the country is changing”
and they say they are afraid. The woman
sighs, and reaches for her lover’s hand.

I look over at a child holding her mother’s hand.
I meet the little girl’s gaze from across the aisle.
I see myself as a child too, but to her I’m a woman.
I wonder how often the little girl rides the train.
Does she long to see something else for a change -
something other than the back of a seat?

I notice a lady who has started dancing in her seat,
snapping her fingers and waving her hands,
bobbing to a silent beat. I imagine her changing
into a sequined dress and waltzing down the aisle,
giving everyone a performance to watch on the train.
I imagine standing up and dancing with that woman

and then everyone begins to dance with the woman -
we all jump up onto our seats
and suddenly we are in a ballroom, not a train.
We are tapping our feet and clapping our hands
to the music - the little girl across the aisle
is dancing with the old man who asked for change.

The train stops. We’ve arrived at my station. The dancing woman leaves the train. The passengers change and now there are strangers in their seats. I wave my hand goodbye to the little girl as I walk past her down the aisle.
"A Sestina is a French verse form, usually unrhymed, consisting of six stanzas of six lines each and a three-line envoy. The end words of the first stanza are repeated in a different order as end words in each of the subsequent five stanzas; the closing envoy contains all six words, two per line, placed in the middle and at the end of the three lines. The patterns of word repetition are as follows, with each number representing the final word of a line, and each row of numbers representing a stanza:

          1 2 3 4 5 6
          6 1 5 2 4 3
          3 6 4 1 2 5
          5 3 2 6 1 4
          4 5 1 3 6 2
          2 4 6 5 3 1
          (6 2) (1 4) (5 3) "
Jennifer Nov 2020
i close my eyes
as the Metro carriage sways
from side to side
giving off that constant
comforting roar
as it flies along the
winding northern track
that ends at nowhere
special.

i used to get off a Pelaw;
the platform there seemed like
a concrete field of possibility
where love was just
on the other side.
now it seems wide,
grey and pointless.

a forlorn nostalgia washes over
me as i pass Pelaw station.
it is winter now,
and the memory of those days
warms my cold morning
mind
as i wind past it
always looking back.
Maria Mitea May 2020
I feel
the burn in my chest,
as the sunny dream chops its edges
I run happy warming up in La vita è bella,
while the soles of my feet are burning
into the dark earth. Who cares? only
into the dark earth roots grow,
all lilac is still there at the Moscow Metro, while illusion succumbs to temptation running faster and harder,
the underworld has a life of its own,
a life of greater depth and purity, while
my eyes touch the cold striking murals, and
the book falls on the
Whisper
"The book.." is all knowledge we humans created and possess, and that still doesn't answer our big questions.                                                            
"Whisper" is the invisible reality;  that which is present but overlooked, obvious but not seen with an opened eye, the mystic, the soul, the spirit, inspiration, imagination, desire, passion, inner drive, ...
japheth Mar 2020
‪huminga ka.‬

‪hindi porket nagparamdam siya, ‬
‪susubukan mo kung may pag asa pa;‬
‪kung may natitira pa.‬

‪sa oras na ‘to na lahat ay magkakalayo, ‬
‪na lahat ng tao’y may distansiyang higit sa isang metro, ‬

‪isabay mo na rin ang puso mo. ‬

‪di lahat ng bagay, may pagasang bumalik sayo.‬
english translation:

“metro”

breathe.

just because you felt his presence,
you try to see if there’s still a chance;
if there’s a hope left.

in these times where everyone’s apart,
where every person has a distance of 1 meter,

do so with your heart.

not everything has a chance to come back to you.

- been a while since I last wrote. i checked my messages now and i cried because someone told me they like the pieces i write. im sorry for not writing enough. i promise to make it up to you all once this pandemic is over.
ari Mar 2020
that feeling you get
              when you’re on the tube and you’ve got
that song blasting in your cheap earphones
            you stare out the window, not that there’s anything to look at
     just a blurry wall
                you think yourself to be some sort of
cinematic genius in these moments
              you watch yourself in something of a movie
                       where you’re the director, the star, and the writer
       it’s emotional and perfect
             like a stupid ******* indie music video
                  for the song you love that nobody knows
Riddhi N Hirawat Nov 2019
Ek metro, saanp si guzar rahi hai kuch duur
Ek nabh faila hai uske upar - Neela sa kaala
Ek chaand chamak raha hai uss nabh mein
Kuch baadal sarak rahe hain paas mein uske
Usi metro ki tarah par dheere zara
Thandi hawayei hain.
Usme goonjta mera aaj khada
Kuch thandak hai inn hawaon mein
Aur bohot sara sukoon bhara

Aisi hi hoti hai wo chaand ki thandak?
Jinhen sunte, apna bachpan beet gaya
Kya sheetalta swarg ki aisi hai kahin?
Jisey suna kayion ka jeevan guzar gaya
Kya raambaan sukh yahi toh nahi
Kya kamdhenu vriksha aisa tha kabhi
Kya Ramcharitmanas mein hanumat
Ka Rambhakti amrit lagta tha yun hi?

Aisa hi amritmay bachpan mein,
yaad hai mujhko lagta tha
Zameen se shuru uss lambi khidki
Se yahi chaand chamakta dikhta tha
Mama sa ban chup shant bhav se
Kuch baatein meri sunta tha

Kyunki khud bhumi par bistar pe so
Holi mujhe khilayi thi
Khud bhookhe reh uss ke paiso
Se mere bhai ko idli chakhayi thi
Bohot pasand thi usko uski idli
Aur rangbhari mujhe holi meri

Kya kabhi unhen main unka wapas
Ye rinn chukta kar paungi
Kya kabhi unnsi balwaan main ban kar
Unke liye itna kar paungi?
Kya usi chaand ki thandak si khushiyan
Unki jholi mein bhar paungi?

Kya bhool maaf karne ki hadd
Ko paar kar kar ke thake nahi wo?
Kya raat bhar bhi jagkar subah
Hans dawa banna bhoole nahi wo
Kya insaani roop mein hain
Bhagwan, "maa baap" kehlate jo?
next time I'll hug the woman
crying alone in the metro
Poetry Addict Feb 2019
Buttoned-and-pressed eyes
Crystallized rationality glistens
(or so it seems!)
in their quest for whoisit.
Policemen occasionally search our underground train system when we're downtown and stop all the trains. My hometown is known for the huge quantities of police.
The world plants a desire,
and tells me I must douse its fire.
But this morning I toasted some bread
and read a Japanese poem about geese,
and I realised that all the time I lease
to smartphones and buying things
could be simply spent with a coffee, reading
a text that makes my bleeding heart sing.
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