The Train - POTD

POTD 25 Nov 2020 Manage your Stress … a peeling faded poster boldly declares I do get it about advertising campaigns. Enough to know that, ‘strategically placed ads’ catching the eye, is huge. But this poster has seen better days ~ There’s nothing that screams out anymore. So good luck with that! The ‘illuminated little screen’, holds higher precedence than one’s state of mind these days anyway. Though, just to prove that some in the world, share more to the eye than fixed texts on small screens I jot down the website. Grating metal to metal interaction, In its customary ten minutes late ~ ‘don’t care a hoot’ style - the train screeches in. Beats me why they call it the 4:15 when it always, ALWAYS gets in at 4:25 I shuffle forward. Shoulder to shoulder, limb to limb. I’m too hot and weary to care. All I can think of is getting home in time to cook dinner for the kids. What can I serve up tonight That won’t be greeted with… “Oh man, not this again” The train, packed as always and no one looks up. Downturned faces Feigned indifference? Eye contact ... a thing of the past! I find myself wedged in between an intellectual looking young woman on my right, Student of Psychology or Bio Med Science? The young guy on my left is fast asleep Japanese most probably. They and ONLY THEY seem to have mastered the art of sleeping on their feet. The train lurches off with almost human like groans. Seems to be in a temperamental state lately ~ Menopause? My nostrils adjust to the assault of usual odours. Some nice, mixed with the not so nice, sweat, moist ~ who knows what? Wet dog? I settle in, brace myself, to the half hour stretch ahead The man behind me is standing close enough to moisten the back of my neck with his hot steamy breath. Was there ever a time when this old Rattler’s air conditioning worked? I glance at the Japanese man yes, very much in a deep sleep. Wondering if I too can adapt this method I close my eyes. The train gaining momentum - rounds a corner sharply - I fall backward into the man behind me. Before I can turn around to apologize, A hand comes out to steady me settling on my hipbone. Strangely enough it remains there And I let it My heart races feeling something surreal a feeling I’ve never known to be so real. Intimate in this oddity I allow myself to stay, In an unspoken serenity relaxing back ever so gently time crawls to a halt as an old familiar fragrance assails me ~ Encapsulates me My senses in overdrive as embedded memories surface And hover back to that one day Boarding this very train Squeals of joy As cloudbursts unleased their rain Squeezing into one seat Wrists caressed and kissed Floating to that intimate space Sensual lips tasted Whispered promises elicited sparking bright eyes And blushing rosy face Softly against my ear a hum Our song Breathless on the high line Us ~ giggling teens fingers daring to trace burning paths through shredded threads in faded jeans The train hooted in joy as we sped through fields of wild flowers sparkling like diamonds with the fallen showers Through the rain splattered window Mesmerised by the candy coloured rainbow coy behind fairy floss clouds and shimmering sunbeams through love’s rose-coloured spectacles we gazed Independent to the confinement of time Enamoured in each other Audacious and unbridled joy lacing into a languageless connection no words dare define The thrill of First Love No high jacking of poetic sugar dusted expressions can possibly convey the experiential feeling that soars ~ way beyond words of it I feel if I tried It would, It possibly could, fall into overt descriptions that seem to have squeaky boots I have this incessant need to turn around His steamy breath has caused little droplets of perspiration to run down my neck But before I do the train lurches forward then shudders to a grinding halt. My nose buries into a mouldy smelling brown suit in front. A voice muffled says something What??? Oh, my goodness! My stop??? Blinding tears surprise me at first, I rudely push past the other commuters. Before I step off, curiosity gets the better of me I can’t resist ~ I look back. He’s looking down at his mobile Smiling ~ perhaps humming to some old tune on You Tube? Ruddy faced and flushed middle aged and sweaty. His hand now stabilising himself on the person in front of him. They say Time heals all wounds Try telling that to a heart that has been shattered In a million fragments Try telling a heart in denial that dead men don’t wear cologne! Let alone hum tunes. The deepest attachment is to your own way of thinking and feeling That’s where the trap is… ~ Sadh guru ~ POTD 25 Nov 2020