Drain – a poetic observation as a commuter on a train

So there I am on the train, commute home, no seats looking at what not to look at,

Whilst the motion of the steel wheeled ocean gets into a rhythm, I stare at all who are sat.

None looking out of the window dreaming of adventures to plan and see,

Instead faces sucked into a screen, thumbs muscles at their gym repetitive strain injury.

What happened to sitting and talking on the train?

When was it taboo to talk to a stranger, and the victim not look like they’re in pain!  

Was it just in the 40’s when our future was being bombed,

Did we gather around a piano and peacefully succumb

To some unity, community, uniformity, conformity and out and out sharing,

With no fear of a negative comment, judgement or analytical destruction of the caring.

With no platforms in which to ridicule and mock,

and what happened to MLK’s con of your character,

Why did we stop believing the rainbow, compliment him, be pleasant to her?  

Is it so wrong to celebrate the new birth, holding up Simba as if he were unique,

Why is it so right to embrace the negative, and flourish in the oblique?

The cynics are winning, you need to take a stand and express,

Counting on some to keep trying, exploring, experimenting, even if the outcome is a temporary mess.  

Reality check!! verse 1 chapter 1 – if you’re trying, you’re winning,

C’mon folks if you’re on Facebook or LinkedIn you see endless quotes and sayings, which repeat until you’re spinning.

But you’re happy to be told to open that door, lock it behind you and sit in the empty room,

And after some time when the long-handled bristled thing is thrown in,

you’re happy to sweep the dirt with that token broom.

You see what we have created on Social media Is the false impression and veiled fake criteria

Of a life well lived, with happiness and balance

When we all know the glitches we live with, the unacceptable acceptable… valance

Covering up the real structure, shamed by societies strifes

Which leads to the taking of another tragic life  

And some have become strutting castrated peacocks,

Trying to attract a barren mate who knows not

Of what they want out of life now, are they too old?

But the choice is yours my friend, stop waiting on being told!

You have become Bowman on your own ships,

Whistle, mutiny, overthrow the coxswain, the stranger, engage and burn the whips.

Take control of what you want out of life,

Listen to the reptile, grab that apple, drive through with your knife.  

Savour the flesh as you hold on to two things in your hands – to preserve or destroy

Wake up, agitate, debate, challenge, plan and annoy.

Let me bring you back to the train… So all of this advice is grand if I’m an inspirational guru peddling my trade on youtube,

But as I type this, me as a lower-deck-what the heck-see it and poeticise , half faking it, giving advice and clearly not taking it,

I look up from this verse and see someone doing the same as me,

Looking at all of the discontent commuters, sitting hypnotised by their crystal meth computers   We catch each other people watching and clearly thinking the same,

Assessing grey 9 to 5 faces battered by the corporate rain.

As we look again we manage an eyebrow crease and a collaborate smile,

I’m now dying to ask her if she’s been noticing them for a while,

But I’m not gripped with the same ‘non-communicado

we can’t engage in chat modern kinda style.

Maybe it would’ve been a perfect time to use the medium of communication,

When you are sitting next to someone, talking is weird, move to snap chat, WhatsApp, social media mastication  

But to my generation, it’s just odd to strike up with texts with thumbs up signs and love eyed emojis,

Every time we want to say “Hi..good day?” or if we’re just a little commuter-timescale-lonely

You see I know you want to talk to me, as you sit there, you feel the same way

Instead of wishing for the nights to last and dreading day

So what has got people gripped with this fear for change,

The paralysing paradigm that limits our range.

I truly believe many think that if we try we won’t hit but miss,

And that they don’t possess the skills and belief to make their own chrysalis.  

To me the only regulator, and a common denominator so to block out the cancerous negater,

Is the ability to say, every day, without upsetting the cart or causing affray… “I am alive, my family and friends are alive and today is a good day…”

Everything that comes after that is a bonus, with the main focus and onus being to smile during that commute,

So to at least just refute the two strangers who stand in the carriage trying to work out how to un-mute.  

©PEDRO-BATPOET 2018

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