Thirty Three Hours

I watch the outside like telly, through the one way mirror.

Imagine what the breeze outside must be like,
sitting in the 22 degrees of the AC.

Conjure the rustling sound of leaves,
listening to Linkin Park on my mp3 player.

Try to imagine the feel of the calves romping in the fields;
cuddled in my Indian Railways' quilts.

Strive to remember what pedaling a cycle was like;
cursing my legs aching of sitting too long.

The dark clouds endeavour to rake up the strongest memory of mine, the smell,
the fragrance of wet soil;
but alas!
My olfaction is already stifled with my Archies Zero One.


Did I want it to be like this?
I try to find an answer, able to see but the clock,
reminding me only of how I could not get a flight ticket!