"hourly" poems - Hello Poetry

That workaholic lady who's always on call, keeping up with the market fall. That newly married lady with chunky red bangles, returning to her father's big castles. That person who's scared to get lapse, so stays active on the google maps. That person who swings like a kid at the back door, Or the one who perform calisthenics on an empty floor. That next door girl with a red lipstick, flicking her shinny hair & gossiping with her clique, That dreamer gazing outside the window, That overworked soul dozing on his elbow. That 21st century kid, listening to Eminem & playing video games. Or That 90’s kid, listening to Jenga Boys & playing outdoor games. That banker with a big fat stomach, filled with his beautiful wife’s love. That lady who eats like a thief, in her big fat bag hiding a beef. That old man who can’t stand Bombay's winding turns. That granny spotting & criticing every fashion trends. That man who has Raju Rastogi’s concerns, thinking & chanting for earns & returns. Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in a battlefield, in the still crowd surpassing like electrons into a magnetic field. That lady sitting under cold seat like a glacial, than standing with 7kgs in a crowded central, & tryna stay sane listening to George Michael. That geek who switchs from Linkedin to Arjun Reddy, when the masses flee into the scenery. That trader crunching numbers so rapidly, when the stock prices go down hourly. That person on the last seat, diagressing from work & gazing around, soaking in her pashmina, with a career newfound.

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Jul 23, 2018

Jul 23, 2018 at 1:35 AM UTC

misssaitwal

Your's truly, Travelogue.

That workaholic lady who's always on call, keeping up with the market fall. That newly married lady with chunky red bangles, returning to her father's big castles. That person who's scared to get lapse, so stays active on the google maps. That person who swings like a kid at the back door, Or the one who perform calisthenics on an empty floor. That next door girl with a red lipstick, flicking her shinny hair & gossiping with her clique, That dreamer gazing outside the window, That overworked soul dozing on his elbow. That 21st century kid, listening to Eminem & playing video games. Or That 90’s kid, listening to Jenga Boys & playing outdoor games. That banker with a big fat stomach, filled with his beautiful wife’s love. That lady who eats like a thief, in her big fat bag hiding a beef. That old man who can’t stand Bombay's winding turns. That granny spotting & criticing every fashion trends. That man who has Raju Rastogi’s concerns, thinking & chanting for earns & returns. Those kids who believe their job is to fill the voids in a battlefield, in the still crowd surpassing like electrons into a magnetic field. That lady sitting under cold seat like a glacial, than standing with 7kgs in a crowded central, & tryna stay sane listening to George Michael. That geek who switchs from Linkedin to Arjun Reddy, when the masses flee into the scenery. That trader crunching numbers so rapidly, when the stock prices go down hourly. That person on the last seat, diagressing from work & gazing around, soaking in her pashmina, with a career newfound.