How I feel about what I see
Has a strange connection
With what I see is what I feel
4th September,
Yesterday evening
When I was returning home
I saw a lot of people
Grown-up kids
In front of every gift shops
What is it?
I was wondering
Teacher’s day

Today is 5th September

In train
There was this hyper kid
I never liked kids
Or maybe that’s what I feel
Kids like them,
Pushing and throwing hands
Crossing in between my legs
I think my irritation
Irritated his mum
But I found my space

In bus,
My favorite window seat
Suddenly my music app
Started playing
“Swadesh”
My own country
Through windows
I saw this flower shop
Selling funeral wreath
And flower tiaras
Together
A man next to me
Made my shoulder his pillow
Didn’t sleep at night I presume

Mothers taking their kids
To school for learning
Throwing plastic bags
And food wrappers
Here and there

Someone teaching a woman
How to get on a bus
“You have to get on a running bus”
Bus stand here doesn’t really work

So many teachers,
In my country
To keep it the way it is
The way I see it
The bizarre settlement
Of chaotic order
And order of chaos
Where will I get it?

I put the music on repeat mode,
Maybe one day
I won’t be a rootless tree.

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3 thoughts on “A foreign place

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