Sunday, May 06, 2012

The No. 7 Train

Languages clash on engrossed cell phones
that are unmindful of public space.
Black and brown shoes rest in different pairs of legs;
Keep their distance like respectful strangers.

I keep my face down,
resist the view of the big city flying below;
For eyes can't reach where the mind is now:

Red manicured fingers tap iPhones;
When will fashion come natural to me?
Large studded earrings dangle music
from ear plugs and mock my loneliness.

I see shadows of gloom as bright white morning light
falls on sloped roofs and cars and Taco Bell;
No one told me that New York City looks
poor and lonely from the no. 7 train.

I am on the no. 7 train;
A long, long way from home.

-Gauri Gharpure
October 27, 2011

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YOSEE said...

High "connectivity" has resulted in each person becoming an island, intensely networked with other islands, stuffed to the gills with information about everything, but....all alone.

Nice verse, Gauri.

Gauri Gharpure said...

Thanks Yosee, for keeping me company on my island. :)

Shilpa said...

Gauri, I loved this one. Stark contrast, close observations:-)

Gauri Gharpure said...

Thanks Shilpa :-)