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Shanath Aug 2017
On my way back,
He got angry at the seats
Assigned separately.
A little too far,
She, a little too dimwitted,
Those who travel together
Sit together,
Now don't normal families do!
But we couldn't,
The seats were empty,
We were the first few to arrive,
She has no excuses
Other than her mindlessness.
I stopped the formal complaining
And would sort it I say.
(Rough edges).

In the aisle, a small traffic
I, the second car.
After a brief, polite but angered spat
We sat sepearate,
Say I will sort it.
The man I could tell
Spoke my tongue,
I waz getting better at observing.
After two lines of request he agreed,
And I waited for the aisle to empty.
(Questions. Answers.)

In the wait,
The man behind got up
And offered his place,
I couldn't thank him enough,
Our frivolity
Made his act a nobelity,
I declined.
We smiled at each other
Our truest of smiles
And things were better again.
We were one big family,
Looking after the other.
The man of my tongue
And the man of my family
Drifted off to a conversation,
And I to a digital page.
I can't speak for the noble man,
I didn't look at him again.
(Silence)

After a light meal,
I am craving a tea,
That's the first thing I ask now
Everytime I come home.
(It might be red.)
Travel Tales V
Posting the last
Of it all.
Took so much
To say it all.
Carson Guy Jan 2016
What is a Writer?
Is it someone who puts words on paper
with honesty and nobelity?
Or is it someone who sees a truth in injustice,
a dream deferred?
Perhaps a writer is someone
who wishes wisdom upon the world
to exploit their own for the purpose of others?
What is a Writer?

— The End —