Friday, 11 March 2011


Here, the hourglass neck contracts the airport arrivals,
around, the glass of bubbles sheen from LCD screens,
bodies of sand stare at landing times then stare
at the bottled-doors that swing with sand-surges;

behind, glints of glass again, the duty free
gleams for the falling crystals; their sunrise to walk
from and into searching arms, glazed eyes
googling faces, finding foreign fissures

they instantly discard, until four arms outspread
lock, four puzzle-prongs inter-fixing, atomic
blending of all their positivity; tears and smiles
arising from the deadpan names held

by chauffeurs, static from their monotony of this,
business-suited, tightly-tied, an immovable circumference
on the cascades of trolleys and feet and shy
pecking lips; more aggressive is the extrovert

– and then me, impatiently rocking, nonchalantly pocketed
hands sweating, a chemical of time burning within,
what future could now begin,
as the hourglass turns and my world turns upside down.

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