Making love

She makes love all the time,
this girl I know.
Wavy hair on the rough side.
A clown adorning a crooked smile
that lights up really small eyes.
A girl who has already fallen in love with words
before, while and after she fell in love with a man.
If the first that peeps from the sky is a worm,
she'd write how beautiful it was
with its rings sparkling all through the night,
inching its way across the infinite realm of God.
If that little niece of hers puddles on her lap,
she jumps up in antagonising joy
while enjoying the warmth that lives
before she showers herself 'clean'.
While you only just read it in your head,
she articulates it in her heart and shouts
in passion that,
she lives in conditions unknown outside,
that she cannot track the number of words
nor the wrangling between her two different selves.
She cannot decide which side to go,
what to do about a boy she probably loved
and the rejection that sheathed itself in her heart.
Ramblings churn their way from her soul
losing its way in her blood,
sometimes hitting hard at the head;
which led some to think that
she has lost her senses.
I pity them,
for beyond a small nose and legs,
a large forehead and an independent stature,
they can't see that words swim inside of her
that give her more pleasure
than any boy EVER could.

~Hemu 

The Airport Effect

So, I enter through rotating glass doors to look unto a sweeping stretch of dotted spot lights in a high false ceiling,  white-marbled huge columns, steel barricades and the tiled flooring of the airport. I never understand what runs in my mind when I go to the airport. Technically speaking, it should be like going to the bus depot or the railway station. Why does it feel more enhanced here? All of them are sentimental at various levels of distances between dear ones and one thing always reigns everywhere : separation and reunion.
But those two words are the global synonyms for 'airport' all around the world, in particular. The first thing that strikes anyone.
   
             As I did mention before, I never understand what runs inside me when I go there. I love staring at the activity around me. I feel like I have been trapped beyond reason and have my eyes following the pilots in their smart uniforms. When I was young, I wanted to be a pilot...and now, for some un-understandable reason I am in the course of studying to be an architect, which I love too. I guess that patch of yearning remains in my heart forever. I stare at wide-eyed babies and old people pushed about in wheelchairs, newly wed couples excited, elated and nervous at the start of a literally and figuratively new journey, working professionals, and tourists trying to fit in with the locals with our style of dressing. It floods my brain which suddenly seems to becomes a blank canvas. For no reason at all, I visit the over-priced snacks bar and the probably-clean washrooms. I climb on the bars of the barricade and look around at nothing in particular. (well, there are the pilots...But other than that, nothing-I swear) I make faces at the kids when their parents are not looking and smile looking at sleeping passengers-to-be. I feel completely blank- a combination of nothing and everything.

     The emotions I feel cancel each other or fuse to create a sense of patience and un-bored nature in my mind.I feel yearning and loss, joy at the reunion, excitement and the heavy feeling that I have not yet begun to travel as I had always wanted to. Mere counters, paper money and cold steel bars in an air-conditioned volume of space has stopped me from reaching the corners of the world, you know.

   I wish there is a word for the tingling feeling in your stomach that feels full of nostalgia and curiosity, the heaviness of the heart at the brief separation with tears in the eyes, the hope that we'll meet soon again and the excitement of a start of something new.
  Do you have such a word or phrase?
   I call it the 'Airport Effect'.

P.S : I'm still under the airport effect and that has made me write this post. You'll have to excuse me if you don't understand the point of the whole thing. I don't too. It's some sort of a drug.

From google images 

Hemu