“Can you stand up?”
the security official looked
at the wheel chair.
“If only I could “ I thought to myself.
She indicated I stand up and walk
towards her to the checking booth.
Perhaps she thought I was taking a free ride.
II had fallen like Icarus
out of the grey sky.
the loose brick
plummeted me to the
stone strewn ground.
It's been sometime since I
surrendered myself to
a different life journey.
A winding alley where I can
hear voices of concern
and feel a closer companionship.
I am no longer alone
nor left to fend for myself.
A more tactile world.
I see more of others
I watch while waiting.
People hurried and harried
People lost and sad
People bidding goodbye
People smiling with joy.
Kids running about
Having a merry time.
I am a lone flower on a tall stalk.
I have learned another path to walk.
What no eyes can
see no muscles can feel
is my throbbing body pain prone.
And that is when I am alone.
The jingling beads tied to my
ortho stick took a merry ride with
my passport ,my purse,
my phone, and my laptop.
It stood forlorn on the other side
waiting to be claimed.
I was nobody without them.
I am seized with panic
at the sound of restless feet
and can feel the grumpy looks
lining up behind me.
A stiff official hand
has waved
for me to move.
The wheelchair pusher
Has helped me stand up.
I hobble cobble those miles
as sweat pours down my neck.
I can feel the heat of the sun
My wings are dripping wax.
Behind the curtain
The booth is terrifying.
The doctor’s certificate
Ignored, abandoned and suspect.
My body beeped and beeped!
The 26 throbbing titanium nails
strung up an orchestra loud and clear.
They have surrounded and
cordoned me off.
During a long suffocating body inspection
I was lifted, pressed and tapped
and gloved hands had moved all over me.
I had found the silence deafening.
I could be a human torpedo.
I could just rip through the
aircraft splitting it into two.
I could be a hijacker!
Leaving me bruised in heart ,
With my body and mind in acute pain
They let me go without a goodbye.
For an infinite moment
I had turned into a robot.
Here I am still human ,
my pain is palpable.
The anxious pram pusher
looks sadly at me
I think she understands my pain.
All day she pushes people like me
up and down and down and up.
Pushing people into eerie silent elevators
past the aroma of freshly ground coffee,
the fragrance of perfumes,
those Cinderella gowns and pashmina scarves
and the smell of sandwiches and freshly
baked bagel on a hungry stomach.
Unseen, her body must ache too.
A comradeship of pain holds us together.
She is my witness. And I , hers.
We were both transiting passengers
Not everything in life is Duty Free.
Roopali Sircar Gaur is a Poet, academic,
Roopali Sircar Gaur, Ph.D. is a poet, writer, academic and social justice activist. She taught English and Creative Writing at Delhi University. She has featured in peer-reviewed journals, and edited anthologies.Her poetry is archived in the Stanford University Pandemic digital archives. Co founder of Saraswati Ezine for Literature and Arts and Poetry Editor for AWS Ezine, a columnist for E Journal Different Truths. She is consulting editor for Different Truths and Director of The Backyard Book Club.
She lives in Meerut, India with her Veteran military spouse and three rescued dogs.
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