Today, I am cross: Poem by Komal Raja

Today, I am cross: Poem by Komal Raja

Today, I am cross.

I didn’t miss the bus for i was on time.

The bus missed its round today.

This is the most annoying thing about small cities and outskirts of cities where if one bus is gone next will arrive after an hour.

It was zero degree temperature and i was not dressed up proper for a walk or wait outdoor.

My hands froze

My legs ached

My feet felt heavy

My body weight doubled of its actual.

All this i had to bear when the delirium from last nights dream was not yet over.

Yes, I saw Saadi Sherazi and composed a long poem with him,

There was a news channel also showing headline from my ex, “don’t forget to send me words”

What words? I have only two left for him, “fuck off”.

There were 55 minutes in dream yet to go for the bus to come.

They say 55 is the angel number, the angel of God’s grace who is sent to pass a message of “transformation” to you.

Fuck dream and dream angels!

I sat on the bank of lake in freezing cold to wait for the bus.

there was water and wind and ferries and nothing else.

Also, the statue of a wearisome woman, leaning back in an uncomfortable posture, carved on a green pasture.

I smoked last cigarette from my pack

It’s Sunday

Shops are closed even on the bus station, cause’ its a small city’s bus station.

I am cross

And cold and

Hungry, and delirious.

Dead can dance playing in my ears.

Amid all this the thoughts about you are loathsome

I hated you for no reason

In the first place, I thought of you for no good reason.

Reason often fail in fucking love matters.

I think I hated you because I love you.

Who is this you btw ?

My core, my soul, my ex, my crush, my next, or my fret?

My nose running

My eyes  watering

The city is sleeping

Bars closed, all the fuckheads gone to home

Cleaning woman, picking the garbage bag

Bookstores yawning

Birds disappearing

it is fucking too cold.

(I only need a mat,  some sun, a highland pasture and a bottle of wine,  a pack of cigarettes and no cloths.)

Before boarding in the same fucking bus (of life) with a different driver this time,

I realized, the expired ticket is still

clenched in my frozen hand.

I could have cheated on him

As the last one cheated on me.

But I didn’t, why I didn’t?




Bus travel



Photo by 黄 赛 on Unsplash

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