Hey Stranger...

Frankfurt airport is always crowded. So every week when I had to get to Paris, my mind was always heavier than the luggage I dragged along. Thankfully they don’t ask to check in your mind.

When the first time I had to produce a credit card I didn't have, I really looked around in despair. 'No credit card' counter didn't exist.

That's when I met him. The guy who guides lost people to the right place. Only at the airport. Don’t ask for more than you can get.

Eyes do speak. When he asked me where I was going and I told him Paris, his eyes filled with longing for the place he'd left behind. How often he'd have heard of home and visited it more times than every aircraft that flew over him, to count that I didn’t know enough numbers.

When he asked me why I didn’t have a credit card, I wasn't offended as I wanted to, pretence to this invasion of private space. Too poor. We laughed. When I asked him how often he went home, he told me, not often enough. We laughed again, this time in sadness.

We became almost friends. A quick ticket to a queue isn't a crime among almost friends.

I met him every week after that. When eyes would search among unknown faces, he would always materialize by my side. 'Hey stranger'. I was the no-credit girl. Returning was never my forte.

And I'd tell him yet again how beautiful everything was back in a street he'd walked without realizing he'd be away. Back in a street where he hoped he'd go away from. Back in the street where he now wanted his feet touch.

So when the last time that I had to go away, I knew I wasn't to return. For at least a long while. And I brushed aside my fear of 'what-if' I didn't meet him to say goodbye. But as always, he came.

I told him I was going away. He signaled to his colleague he was taking a break. Pulling one of my now eager bags, we walked to a coffee bar. He told me he broke a rule that day. I never asked him what it was. That’s when we became friends.

When I stood uncertain of how to say goodbye, he put his arms around me. I broke a rule too. Arms went around.

Merry Christmas. I'd wished you last year.
Merry Christmas this year too. It comes again. Returning is characteristic of it.



Have a good year you all.

Paper boats on waterless seas

Clouds
Dark n swollen
Like overripe plums
A lil squishy
But awfully nice

Stains
Like blackberry juice
on white petticoats
Like unwashed sin


Rain
Earth
Wind
No fire.
Just everything drenched
All thirsts quenched.

Swollen
Like the river.
Overstepping bounds.
With mischievous fingers
Groping always.

Wet
Like a washed calm
of thoughtful sunsets.
Fingerprints
On sprayed windows
Slithering down.

Brown.
Of wet earth
On sides of long distance roads
Of sun kissed tomatoes

Ripe
Like suckered nipples
Or if you find that not in taste
Rum soaked raisins
Wrinkled edges
now drunken smooth.

No room, no door

I came too early.

When he was with unprepared words and jumbled thoughts. But I got the gist of it. Oh, he loved me alright.




I came too late.

With prepared words and neat sentences arranged in a row. Like perky school ribbons. So I tell him casually on how I considered it all. In entirety and random. I pause to see the effect my words have, they were of course meant to impress.

I am not thrilled with his expressions. Maybe I should reconsider...I'm almost gathering said words...

That's when she walks in. And his hand that goes clumsily around her as if in response to her questioning glance.

Well, his taste was quite bad. Women should spend on pedicure I say!

A Christmas Special

Secrets
Like rum
In closed dark chocolates

Sharing
Like red wrapper
That crackles when you open
The sound unshared beats the purpose

Lost love
Like after Christmas
Waiting for the next birth

Forgiveness
A vindictive feeling
Of having to perform


Hope
Like the lifeless butterfly
In glass crystalled boxes

Death
Is the only end
To a story.