Transit - A very first English Poem by Atif Malik

Lying on a bench at the airport
I am half asleep half awake
An eye closed, the other on the bag
Am I sleeping or is it all fake

Sitting at the airport, I wait for the next flight
Tired, sleepy, sleepless, it has been a long night
Sitting on the bench on my side,
Two old parents on a stride,
To meet their son who left ages ago
Ages ago for the future to be bright
Afraid, they are afraid
I can see they are afraid
For them airport is a strange place
Noisy, bright, engulfed with a fright

Agony written on the face
Sitting in a miserable plight
Like me
Waiting for their next flight

When is the next flight?

With sleepy eyes, I see a group of teenage girls
They giggle and their wings flutter
The next flight has no meaning for them
Nothing for them is a shack
They giggle as they can bring a flying machine back

With closed eyes, I hear shouts
And the electronics boards shroud

When is the next flight?

The next flight will take off at its time
Not earlier, not later, at its time

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