Details |
Dr Divya Hirani Poem
Manned missiles in a queue,?Each big as a prehistoric creature,?Lined up for a lowkey suicidal mission.
I fly so many times-?I don’t know which one will be the last.?Should I finally buy into the reassuring safety claims-?Marketing ploys boasting longevity of service??Nineteen years of going places,?Says a cheapy flight.?No class system could save Titanic;?Would I be so lucky to stump fate?
The airline food-?Promises, with no exaggeration,?It will be there for us-?Throughout the ups and downs of life and beyond.
But turbulence comes unannounced,?Like a bumpy bus ride.?A thousand other rough patches later,?Still stirs up anxiety and TV dinners within.
I think I got away this time.?The tyres light celebratory sparks?upon meeting the ground.?And we, realists who don’t experience happiness-?Ever even once,?Overanalyse ourselves into painful exhaustion.
Copyright © Dr Divya Hirani | Year Posted 2025
|