The Waiting Room
The tickling watches, the shaking legs,
Minds full with silent cries and begs
Hearts are homes
Where the oil is ceaseless impatience,
And neighbours – the anxious ancestors.
The dreams, the love, the perfection,
All blur.
The waiting, waiting and waiting,
In this bewildering times they all were!
It’s a road not unique,
It’s a road they all walk,
The roads with the same lock.
In the universe which was parallel,
They all set a paradise in their own barrel!
But how to walk the road?
To pedal, crawl, jog, jump or travel on a plane aboard?
The waiting is the HOW.
The waiting is the WHEN.
The waiting is the room,
Where all have pitched their tents.
It’s so disheartening how figuring everything out
Is the air to us.
It’s so dis-illusionary why even our luxury
Is to get it ALL FIGURED OUT!
Letting life be life,
Why shape it into a casket of perfection,
Why not mould it into hope,
Not curiosity.
To all on-board this road,
Let’s give the permission for life to flow,
Let it carve out its own roller coaster ride
Let life be life,
Paving way for it to groom,
And not the bleeding, fearing, woeful waiting room!
Copyright © Sanya Saxena | Year Posted 2020
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