It’s just plane poetry

Waiting for a reply
from her.
Your flight is delayed, is what I get instead.


Kid in the plane
starts to wail —
reminds you
to be zen.


The seat in front of me
is pressed against my knees.
In front of my eyes is —


Even when Natives of the Sky,
birds —
they sleep,
we fly —
the arrogance of man
and his all so clever power.


35,000 ft above:
Poetry in the air.
Beat that, Shakespeare.


3 people in 3 seats,
3 books and 3 worlds:
No friends made.


The comfort of an old man
and his back —
disturbs my laptop tray and poetry.


Branded prison meal
as distractions —
This is Matrix.


Turbulence on a plane,
I fear not.
What I fear
is a midnight cab driver.


Termites in my wallet:
Namma Bengaluru!


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