3. Seat 5

I want poetry

That knows me

A girl that slows me

And lowers me good

From these clouds that hold

Till I’m but a wisp

Of a whisper in the wind

And when her hands squeeze mine

I’ll finally stop shivering


I want gold

That god grows

And headlining shows

I’m greedy when I’m needy

For the right words and tight flows

And I won’t cease

Till I leave a crease in the seas

Though I still want a hand in mine

For something potent please


See coping isn’t easy

I fell for Nikki too

Nor do I know how to be okay in the nude

I’ve spent countless nights on my lonesome

Learning the shape of the sheets

The first time I slept with a woman

She cuddled close to me

Which I’m sure is some degree of intimacy

But when it comes to honesty, I don’t know the intricacies

So I’m choking

And broken

With a part of me hoping

That when I hit the desk

I’ll wake to a spotlight so soaking

It has thundershowers moping

And when my eyes open

I’ll be poking prancing posers with my punctuating poems


Then I’ll take a look at the audience

The kid in the front row

Calling it off when he should be calling it in


Maybe they’re delusions of grandeur

I’d be as straight as Blunt on Bedlam

If I wasn’t prone to meander

But I stand here before you

Ink on my sleeve

My attitude has changed

But those voices won’t leave

They storm in my ears

They sleep in my bed

The spotlight flickers. Once. Twice.


I see my grandparents

Their stern faces say I’m failing

That I should’ve taken law

Now they spend their days praying


I see uncles and aunts

They all look amused

I should’ve read the instructions

Now my life’s misused


And there’s ma and pa

Placing their faith in my hands

I squander it like a mad god

Without making amends


Then there’s you, the one that got away

Because I couldn’t muster up the courage to say –

I like the way you recite Baudelaire


When my eyes open

It’s me who’s moping

It’s my mouth babbling

Nobody’s spoken


I’m careening like a ship in the sea

I’m bleeding like a captain already beat

And mama, I’m sorry

I’m not who you want me to be

Four countries. Seven houses.

It took a toll on me

Every temple, church, and mosque I pass

Chants that I’m a sin

They handed me a labeled box

But I couldn’t fit in.


The kid in Seat 5.

He had the right idea

But Hasan bhai said

You’ve got to make your own bed

But mine feels like a minefield

Enough said


I don’t need the gold

Or that Gramercy show


I want a life

That holds me

A wife that shows me

It’s okay to put the pen down

To tell my girls a bedtime story


I want a home

That’s cosy

A laughing family – that’s poetry

We’ll go on adventures,

Drink cocoa, and sing

Just the thought of it

Makes me stop shivering

3 thoughts on “3. Seat 5

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