Wednesday, December 25, 2013

Mettlesome

I turn around.
Wrinkled face,
Back bent,
Short baby steps
And knitted scarf on her head.
Gran!
Instinctively,
As if she hears me.
She looks up.
I am disappointed,
Hold back my tears,
And
Busy myself on mobile.
Before stealing a look at her again.
Somebody spares a seat for her.
She hesitates,
Like
Her eyes seeking permission
From all of us standing,
Like
Apologizing,
For being favored.
I steal a look again,
Seated,
Singing to herself perhaps,
Looking out of window,
Like a young tiddler,
Awed by the
Whole metro-paraphernalia.
And then
The bus rings with
His insistent cries
Growing louder by the minute.
The crowd encouraged
His harried father
To take the seat.
I looked back
At the commotion,
Only to see that Gran
Had spared her seat
For the father-son duo
And joined the
Standing milieu.
Proudly.
She stood
Close enough
That
I could breathe
Her grimed shawl.
She turned to me,
Her voice
Just an audible whisper
“The child was crying”.
Currents well up inside me.
A schoolgirl
Offers her seat.
Gran is seated now,
Again singing to herself,
Awed by
Sights beyond the window.
Awed myself,
I look-on
Until it’s time,
For me to de-board.

12 comments:

  1. Replies
    1. Thank you so much Yeshasvi. It is good to hear from you

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  2. I love all the details and there is so much emotion here.

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  3. What's that about the journey and not the destination? You got it right here and it was awesome. Thanks for sharing and don't forget to vote!

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  4. Ah, this was lovely. I love Gran's comment explaining her decision to stand.

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    Replies
    1. Thank you Kelly. It is pleasure to hear from you

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  5. This was beautiful and tender. Such a lovely poem, Ruby.

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Since every thought is a seed, I am looking forward to a delicious harvest.