Tuesday, 10 May 2016

The Airplane

She stops not for for an instant,
Ignoring the pressure inside her trying to tear her apart,
The heavy organs on her bosom toiling away,
Her arms spread open, balancing her body,
Air screeching over them at a terrible pace,
Her nose braving against it, deserving praise,
Her bones bend in response to all that she bears,
Flexing in unison instead of succumbing to the force,
You sit in her belly, her womb,
Which, if not for her mercy, can become your tomb,
Casually eating, reading or sleeping,
Ignorant of the dangers your journey could be holding,
She holds you in her tummy, shielding you from the heat,
Displaying not an iota of the pain she feels, to achieve such a feat,
The daughter of human creators - of Wrights, Lilienthal and Cayley,
Conceived also by the likes of Valmiki and Subbaraya,
A true beauty applying simple physics in a manner that is incredible,
With rigorous calculation going into every particle,
She is a marvel, a monument to look at in awe,
The airplane, the mother of atmospheric flight.

Written on the plane (from Bangalore to Mumbai on 5.5.2016, edited just before publishing now.

1 comment:

Seine Wörter

Sein Wörter sind ja schön, Aber liebe sie nicht zu sehr, Er sagt wie es ist richtig, Aber es ist nur sein Meinung, Glaub nicht die Wörte...