#metro
I’m so happy
someone slap me
bring me back to earth
before I float away, like a bird
This is a short week, before a 4-day weekend. It’s time to push it.
The density of study per square minute is chaotically high - but worth it.
If I can get everything done, I’ll have days to shake off the smallness
of school, perk-up my vital-signs and revitalise.
I’m motivated, elated and intoxicated at the thought of it
- I’m twirling in front of mirrors - can these feelings even be articulated?
I’m dancing through metro crowds
the uneven cobblestones feel like clouds
I blew a kiss to a busking mime
while bopping to ‘Lady Gaga’ sounds
I shocked an old lady
with an act of voluntary kindness
- I gave her my seat on the metro
she had groceries and looked about eighty
People aren’t mean,
they’re just mindless
it’s a form of situational blindness
I hope you guys have a great weekend too,
just relaxin’ and passing into springtime.
.
.
A song for this:
Kissing Strangers feat. Nicki Minaj) by DNCE [E]
Back 2 Back by Dazy Chain
Mar 31
Mar 31, 2026 at 12:02 AM UTC
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.
Mar 6, 2021
Mar 6, 2021 at 7:50 PM UTC
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.
Nov 9, 2020
Nov 9, 2020 at 3:19 AM UTC
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.
Mar 25, 2020
Mar 25, 2020 at 9:06 AM UTC
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
Mar 4, 2020
Mar 4, 2020 at 1:55 PM UTC
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?
Nov 29, 2019
Nov 29, 2019 at 10:16 AM UTC
An emergency macaroon
on a boulevard, in March,
Because my sugar levels dropping,
mind foggy, dopamine high crashing;
because legs aching; I can’t unknot
the multi-coloured tangles this evening;
because yesterday; because I said yes; because.
Because you never said in so many words.
You say there is cloud cover
with chance of rain, but you know there
will be rain because you have a headache.
You can tell but you can’t say.
Jun 5, 2018
Jun 5, 2018 at 3:21 PM UTC
Coffee blotched wool woven seats
Impassive solidarity on your ***
Dank rapidness
Screeching scream let loose as we transend
Through bleak blackness
Thoughts stream
"Wisdom teeth dont make you any brighter"
"But Starbucks coffee makes my stomach..."
...turn left
Stale air in my every crevasse
The doors to the train open
Crowded shuffles between aged avacado quiescent places
Those weary may rest on, float on
Shallow jolted perfume
As cucumber melon intoxication erupts
On undetermined destinations
Aspiring poets gaze
Out into the open world of
Twinkling city stars
On curved paths
On dipped forks in the road
"All passengers must exit"
Crowded shuffles between aged avacado quiescent places
Those weary return home
Feb 11, 2018
Feb 11, 2018 at 11:54 AM UTC
You always said you believed in people,
even though they didn't always had faith in you.
You also said that your brain
does not believe in a primordial God
but that your heart does.
It was always a matter of proximity,
with the brain being closer to the mouth and
pushing all of its messages..
the right messages.
You said that you weren't convinced by
the making of the cross sign
because it started with the brain
and ended with the heart -
people always remember the last part and never the beginning
you said.
But I knew you had it in you - the words
in the prayers you mumbled on the metro,
hoping that no suicide bomber went in the same direction,
in that moment,
helped you have a pleasant journey.
Yeah, I heard you.
It convinced me to not push the button.
the words came from the heart and,
by the time you got to the end of it,
your brain would have no other choice but to surrender.
Another victory.
Another loss. You pick.
May your non God not bless the non believers.
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9iGxoJnygW8]
Jun 29, 2017
Jun 29, 2017 at 10:12 AM UTC
Sometimes I Shazam random songs.
I don't even have to like'em or anything..
I just do it.
Press the big blue button and wait for it to do its job.
I'm always sad when it says it's sorry and returns no result.
"They didn't quite catch that. Try again". Who does?
Sometimes I Shazam random noises on the metro,
Hoping it will pick up the coolest soundtrack of a movie I'm in,
Just before the credits,
When everything goes dark - but not because of a random suicide bomber that hates life and wants revenge or something.
It returns no results and the TV suddenly goes louder in my head and there are 23 victims and we're all posting kittens on Facebook to show that we're not afraid.
Sometimes I Shazam my parents voices
while they're telling me how their day went
and I discover really cool indie artists
that make me listen to their work in a loop.
Once, I Shazamed your heartbeat while you were sleeping.
It returned my name.
Can't remember the album, but it had a nice cover photo.
I never Shazamed my own voice, nor my heartbeat.
I'm too afraid it'll show nothing worth listening to.
[https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A107BwLLGbE]
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 3:23 PM UTC
I see great ***** every day
in the subway
and, suddenly, my favorite Hitchcock movie changes from
Rear Window to Vertigo.
The movement of the train calms me down and I fall asleep quickly,
dreaming that I'm in Kerouac's car, quietly hitting the road
like ******* hit his canvas.
I see great ******* every day
on the bus that takes me home,
but not one single *****
for me to lay my ear on.
The dream comes to a crossroad where me and Jack have to part ways.
He'll go down in history like a great writer
and I'll quietly go down on memory lane in oblivion.
Memory disappointed me
and left a bad taste
in my mouth - literary *********** ain't what it used to be.
Jun 9, 2017
Jun 9, 2017 at 1:56 PM UTC
Pods routed back and forth
Inside
Cells linked to the central nervous system
Soulless
The cry of a sapling
Lush, primal sounds
But deaf to the neighbours
All distracted by a stream
A tweet
"Doors closing..."
Repeated beeps
Launching sprints
Rivalling Olympians
But not all pass the finish line
The end of the line:
School
Work
Leisure
Three modes activated
Upon the opening of pod doors
A hurry
Never stopping
Never hearing
Never open
Of hearts
Wallets
A song from yesterday
The flower withers
Pulp for pennies
The flower withers
Only so much could be done
Outside the system
Nov 16, 2016
Nov 16, 2016 at 11:17 PM UTC
The apparition of these faces in the crowd;
Petals on a wet, black bough.
Jul 22, 2016
Jul 22, 2016 at 2:52 PM UTC
They’re all in a hurry.
All of these brave men and women are in a hurry.
They’re anxious to get home and **** off before their significant others arrive,
ready for a home sweet home experience,
with fine wine and cheesy shows on the tube.
Life simply goes on in cycles,
like a loop video on the metro CCTV.
No heart attack spikes, no heavy breathing, no chance for a near death experience.
We are all obedient mother/father *******
waiting for the wind to put down the big old tree in front
of our house, so we can have a hot topic on our Facebook walls.
Trying to be different,
mostly in a verbal manner,
is like performing **** with a ***** dolphin,
in front of a tank full of happy sharks.
We’re all in a hurry,
tryin’ to get back home
and **** off good
before the significant part of our life begins.
Jul 4, 2016
Jul 4, 2016 at 11:08 AM UTC
Every morning
I wake up in a city
that feels a little more familiar
each time my eyelids bloom daffodils
on a fire escape horizon.
Maybe I’m in love with a Newness
that begins to feel like Home.
Maybe I dream dumpsters
in Flatbush
or shoot Harlem
into my forearms.
Use telephone wires as tourniquets.
Maybe this girl I’ve been seeing has traces
of Paradise in her bloodstream.
And then I have to remember this city is home to
Pizza Rat, and bedbugs in the metro benches,
and **** Holly Golightly,
she never had to take the F train.
But maybe
she and I can share some unspoken reality,
and I’ll walk down 5th Ave. one day
holding my lover’s hand
as the sun turns sidewalks silver
and we’ll decide to grab a
croissant.
Jan 14, 2016
Jan 14, 2016 at 11:44 AM UTC
Early days as a flaneur;
I recall the couple
On the Metro
When I was still innocent
Of its labyrinthine complexities;
Slim pretty white girl,
Clad head to toe
In new blue denim,
Wistfully smiling
While her muscular black beau
Stared straight through me
With fathomless, fulgorous orbs;
And one of them spoke
(Almost in a whisper):
"Qu'est-ce que t'en pense?"
Then it dawned on me...
The slender young Parisienne
With the distant desirous eyes
Was no less male than I.
Being screamed at in Pigalle,
And then howled at again
By some kind of wild-eyed
Drifter who told me to go
To the Bois de Boulogne to seek
What he clearly saw as my destiny;
Getting ****** in Les Halles
With Sara
Who'd just seen Dillon as
Rusty James,
And was walking around in a daze;
Sara again with Jade
At the Caveau de la Huchette.
Cash squandered
On a cheap gold-plated toothbrush,
Portrait sketched at the Place du Tertre,
Paperback books
By Symbolist poets,
Second hand volumes
By Trakl and Deleve,
And a leather jacket from
The flea market
At the Porte de Clignancourt.
Metro taken to Montparnasse,
Where I slowly sipped
A demi blonde
In one of those brasseries
(Perhaps)
Immortalised by Brassai;
Bewhiskered old man
In a naval officer's cap,
His table bestrewn
With empty wine bottles
And cigarette butts,
Repeatedly screeched the name
"Phillippe!" until a bartender
With patent leather hair,
Filled his wineglass to the brim,
With a mock-obsequious:
"Voila, mon Captaine!"
I cut into the Rue du Bac,
Traversed the Pont Royal,
Briefly beheld
Saint-Germain-l'Auxerrois,
With its gothic tower,
Constructed only latterly,
In order that
The 6th Century church
Might complement
The style of the remainder
Of the 1er Arrondissement,
Before steering for the
Place du Chatelet,
And onwards...Les Halles!
Jul 26, 2015
Jul 26, 2015 at 6:18 AM UTC
my paris begins with
those early days
as a conscious flaneur
i recall the couple
seated opposite me
on the metro
when i was still innocent
of its labyrinthine complexity
slim pretty white girl
clad head to toe in denim
smiling wistfully
while her muscular black beau
stared through me
with fathomless orbs
and one of them spoke
almost in a whisper
qu'est-ce-que t'en pense
and it dawned on me
yes the young parisienne
with the distant desirous eyes
was no less male than me
dismal movies
in the forum des halles
being screamed at in pigalle
and then howled at again
by some kind of madman
or vagrant who told me
to go to the bois de boulogne
to meet what he saw
as my destiny
menaced
by a sinister skinhead
for trying on tessa's
wide-brimmed hat
getting ****** in les halles
with sara
who'd just seen
dillon as rusty james
and was walking in a daze
sara again with jade
at the caveau
de la huchette jazz cellar
cash squandered
on a gold tootbrush
two tone shoes
from close by
to the place d'italie
portrait sketched
at the place du tertre
paperback books
by symbolist poets
but second hand volumes
by trakl and deleve
and a leather jacket
from the marche aux puces
porte de clignancourt
losing gary's address
scrawled on a page
of musset's confession
walking the length
and breadth of the rue st denis,
what an artist's paradise
(as juliette once wrote me).
Jul 3, 2015
Jul 3, 2015 at 7:23 AM UTC
Only saw you once
On the metro
You looked like you needed help
I felt like I could have helped you
Never even talked
But our eyes did meet
You looked like you needed hope
But you looked away before I could smile
Pull up to the platform
I opened my mouth to speak
You just picked up your bag
And left
Fell in love
With someone
I had never even met
And it hurt
Badly
Jun 6, 2015
Jun 6, 2015 at 8:49 PM UTC
a person on the metro, six stops from their destination
leafing through a brochure titled How
To Get Rich Quick -
sighing in disgust,
"I was never allowed to go on the metro
when I was young," boasts the woman
sitting beside them, an accessory of
The Scene. a prop
(voice is loud and nasally, and the person - five stops - considers moving)
quick smile, polite:
which means, go away. or, at the very least, don't talk quite
so loud
okay? okay?
a softcover Merriam-Webster's Collegiate Dictionary is under the seat, discarded,
Sharpie skidding through it (four stops) at every jolt
of the train.
this is normal, all trains are jerky sometimes, and the loud woman
expresses her concerns.
an old man, older than both people,
older than anything really - coughs.
wet coughs.
the person frowns, but quietly, so
the woman and man won't notice.
(they are well-practiced in the art of subtlety)
three stops. the woman leaves
but the smell lingers
and the dictionary, having slid back
one or two rows for effect
a flock of tourists board. kids in the seats
parents hanging tiredly to safety holds
(be still be quiet keep your hands to yourself, mandy
a little boy of six clinging to the person's jacket with
sticky warm fingers)
two stops, and the boy asks why they look so sad.
what they're reading.
they have perfected the art of silence
but little boys don't understand silence.
the mother hovers in the background
sneaking ***** looks at the person,
wax smudged smile going crooked at the edges
one stop,
the boy asks where they got their hair
(my head;
he is unimpressed)
he is kicking the lonely dictionary
providing it with company,
or maybe unaware.
they leave, and the mother hisses something at them as they pass -
clutches the boy's arm.
the dictionary has been stuck on the word spectral for three days,
and the train hums to life.
Mar 10, 2015
Mar 10, 2015 at 9:28 AM UTC
Faces unknown, side by side;
Cooperating and mingling;
Looking for a better spot, and yet,
heading the same way.
Everyone becomes equal,
Everyone pays the same fare,
Everyone has a life,
Each as complex as the rest.
Every face is new,
Every mood different.
holding some mystery,
Each different,
None less or more.
A game of patience;
Waiting to reach the end of one path,
And the beginning of another.
A hurry to get up, and get down.
A bus, a metro, a train,
An auto and an aeroplane,
The modest pace of a tram,
The coziness of a shuttle van.
The stories in a public transport,
Are things I wouldn't wanna miss.
I shall never, for the life of me,
Stop traveling in public transport.
Without it, I wouldn't be me.
Mar 4, 2015
Mar 4, 2015 at 1:32 PM UTC