January 5, 2021 § 1 Comment
On the long road to somewhere, I wait for this bus to reach its destination, all the while searching for that bit of meaning in the vast empty fields, the still windmills, and lonely cottages.
I wait for the boarding to begin, queueing behind those who can’t wait to get wherever, double-checking if this is the right flight, and if this is where I want to go.
I wait at the level crossing, camera in hand, hoping to catch the express train pant past us into the nearby almost abandoned station—maybe this could be home, a real address to reach me through post, with no mobile towers in sight, and internet a luxury which you don’t really need.
I wait for the signals to turn green, at the tollgates, easing past wreckages and road kills, hurrying past lives that always wanted to be elsewhere, but here.
I wait for the next turn on the mountain road to show the view of the plains, the next hairpin bend to reveal the temple everyone seems to seek, the next deep curve to show me dreams of forgotten forests and mythical creatures that roamed these lands free.
I wait outside locked doors, for people to turn up at 10:30 for a 10am meeting.
I wait for guests who never turned up, and all these desserts are mine.
I wait for life to move on, to take me to the next the project, to the next book, to the next movie, to the next day, to the next moonrise, dawn, daylight, oru maalaipozhudhu, nenjil yenkangal, mandahil kanavugal.
I wait, I wait.
I wait for the large wave to reach the shore,
and then another,
and then another.
I wait for my watch to tick away the minutes,
for the calenders to tear past the dates,
for Arsenal to win another title.