The Vessel
Something that allows me to release my past
And have the capacity for my uncertain future

The Vessel
Something that can transport me fast
While having my safety ensured

The Vessel
Something that drove past
All the obstacles that have been giving me pressure

The Vessel
Like a steady vehicle that has a vast
Space that can fit in my past, present and future

Faces lost in blank expression

Wait in stasis for their stop,

Shuttled from one potential

To the next like letters

In a mailman’s bag.

The sounds and smells of strangers,

The uncomfortable touches,

The squeezing in spaces,

The jerking rhythm of the ride,

The pram queens who sag

Against the railing

While their kids twist and turn

And scream at the lack of fun

In the faces of blank expression,

While couples tongues quietly wag.

Youthful monsters sit at the back

Playing tunes for the irritation

Of the old school music hacks,

While grandma dozes against the glass,

Shopping drawn up like a wall

To protect her from her past.

Father and daughter

Playing a game,

Sitting next to two lovers

Who are doing the same.  

The tickling natter of friends,

The glare of phones,

The lying dog’s stare.

Life on the buses,

A slice of people

For the cost of a fare.

My eyes meet yours
Our palms are wet
How much closer can we get

Your furrowed brow
Frustration grows
How much longer 'til we go

I smell the sweat
The love
The waste
No need to have so much haste

The time stands still
You just can't wait
So much to anticipate

My heart does soar
We start to move
Everything is running smooth

There are no words
We cannot speak
Concentration at its peak

There's so much noise
Yet not a sound
It's rush hour on the Underground

The wind speed of thought, is handy vehicle; on it mind flies.
To familiar places, where no map is needed, I journey by foot.
A car, a coach or a train, some times air planes to long hauls.
But nothing takes one far like poetry, to interior landscapes.

The world around me keeps
spinning on,
it is
    fast
         paced,
smells become
                                                 indistinguishable.
The air stands still
                                                    it tastes stale.
different colours  b-l-u-r
                                                        to grey
A windowpane of
                                                           rainy
                                                           ­                                                    patience.


Voices
                                                          scre­ech
                                                         painfully
noises w~h~i~r~l
                                                       ­  to echos
                                                           ­                                     not unlike sanity
                                                         fleeing to
                                                              ­                           a place inside myself.
                                               An eye of the storm

Next destination
                                                              cool
                                                            ­                                                   solitary,
time­lessness-
                                                       ­                                                              calm.
                                        
                  ­                                     *s e r e n i t y

Music in my soul, in my veins, in my ear,
Rhythmic hunting, a low pulse that only I can hear.

Separate seats, separate lives,
A brushing meet, competing prides.

The force pushes, always peering,
The pressure mocks, its grin is leering.

Crawling upwards, invading the interior
Onwards it claws, I’m nearing hysteria

My stomach churns, my throat is tight,
My chest burns, my mind alight

Souls all around, but souls are worth dust,
Empty and worthless, ****** dry as a husk

Eyes averted, pointed blank gaze
Still my mind flames, calm in its rage

The stations flicker by, spiralling down the hatch
The names pass too quickly, too quickly for me to catch

Closer to home, a new home I’ve built,
Borne out of upheaval, decorated with guilt

Stepping towards a future, try to shoot from the hip,
But it’s all a façade – loneliness has me in its grip.

A little waiting
Some vigorous pushing
A quick look around
On a shaky ground

Grabbed the nearby seat
Some rest to the feet
In minutes squeezed inside
By a woman on the same ride

Awkward journey
The CON for cheap money.
Ticket punched
Some snacks quietly munched

Feel tall from the rest
I am in a red BEST
The driver is in a hurry
I smell some fish curry

Over a bridge
Some dogs cringe
Music for my ears
No more travelling fears

Nothing gone wrong
Now I feel strong
My stop is next
Replying to a text

Trip a little but its okay
I think it’s a good day
The red bus brakes
My balance shakes

I fly right on the drivers grill
With my face drilled
All eyes on me
I can barely see

I shiver as I walk the stairs
No one even cares
People just want to get to their destination
And I stand numb at the bus station.

-Zainab Attari