“They can build airports differently. The design and interior can be a source of newness, every time you land in one of them. These have same structural issues and similar arrangements. I am bored looking at them, often the same smell….Barista is my favourite though.”
“Who asked you to blabber?” The burly burly man behind him in the queue hung down his squinting eyes at the old man.
“I am sorry.” Marco peeped out only to find Reasha and the boys way back in the queue.
“Sorry, I just thought they were behind me, coz they made me stand here and I felt they were around, old man’s wits. I lost it. Sorry.”
“They were but then I was even before you, I had gone out of the queue for some things and yours guys were using muscles. I pushed them back.”
“Ahh! I see. Good they deserve it, harassin* people…” They flapped their hands, and shared a light moment screeching in joy for no reason.
“Here goes a few lines for you,
“The words ruin the silence,
the skin is turning into ashes.
As the benumbing droplets touch
the fair skin, I know its not fire
neither rain nor akin to the worthy attire.
Adorn the beautiful, brash world of old
ruins stand upon which, since times of gold
rushes fire, pyre, upon a pyre stand on fire.
The suit abandoned, the worthy detained
Heights sustained yet the path contained.
The abyss cannot be seen, the tall mountains
cannot be reached. Man is caught in the
holiness of haulocausts, beauty retained
in false fires, jewels of men tainted.
“It was for me, I did not get it, but I am so touched indeed thank you old man.”
The men hugged each other as others stared in awe, some in disbelief and some ashamed with presumptions. Such unabashed human compassion does no longer befit the small, tiny, single centred brains. The world can of course, never change in a day.