Wednesday, February 1, 2017

A Day in A Metro

 I had written this poem for performing, but I felt I should also keep it for posterity on my blog. Casual touching that takes place in metro is often not talked of in serious terms, no matter how serious it is. Here is my piece about it:

Delhi metro 
Is the first and 
Probably the last
Genuine love
You know what they say
Love of a kind 
That one true love 
I will ever have 
But like any other true
Love, it had to end. 

Metro, oh metro. You look so beautiful tonight. 
Today , you would be carrying me from one world to the another,.in a smooth ride, consensual ride, ride we signed up for together, forever. 
Metro so many go inside you, but I want to feel your insides and as soon as my destination arrives I want you to remember me, metro. I will be back. For you. 
The way the metro enters inside
The station and there is
A cool breeze that 
Brushes past you
Elevates you and you want it to come closer
Much more in tandem
With your position at the station 
You, enter inside the metro
As it enters inside you.You and metro. One and the same. 
You search for a compartment, the perfect compartment where you can sit on the metro, in the metro, with the metro, make love to the metro.

The one coach reserved for women. Ah. Should I. Shouldn't I. You think of the consequences of having so many of your type around you you feel the pangs of ensuing jealousy already you decide no no, let's go, let's take a leap of faith and go to the general compartment and be open, wild, organic, raw, with your love. Ride it, ride in it, as you stand. 
As you stand in the metro with the pole as your lover, you hang by it, you feel you are not so alone in this act...

Slowly, slowly you feel a hand go behind your waist, around it, slowly going down, touching your hips, feeling your ribs, no, that's not what I signed up for, no, metro, no, this isn't you, isn't you, metro, it is some one else metrometro, why is this happening when I am supposed to be inside you, and not have someone force themselves inside me, the hand, the hand goes down. I touch it, it throws my hand away, I look at it and it smiles and says shushhhhh...
this is what is it to be inside the metro, with that ass, with that dress, with that come hither walk because you walked inside this compartment, despite a compartment already compartmentalised for you, you clearly wanted this, didn't you.  Oh yes you did. Even if you didn't, your silence is a yes, your yes is a yes, your no is never a no and well now that you are ashamed, scared, fearful, gasping, that's what I get off on. And then I will get off on the next station. Will See you. In some other form. In some other station. 

Down, downwards, grasps me, pulls me, and now I cant feel the hand but a sharp object brushing against me, forty eyes staring at me, enjoying the show, all of them, seeing love being made in the metro. None of them wants this to stop. I want it to stop. It stops. When my destination arrives. Will I come back to you, metro? I have to. You will be the one carrying me home. 
I come out of the metro. Somebody came in the metro
I didn't sign up for this, metro. I loved you, but not what I had with you.

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