another poem by me - 'Burdened' (1)

 One interesting aspect of looking at Pakistan, where I'm from, is looking at the type of people in the plane to and from Karachi. 

People sometimes fail to notice that there is so much diversity in every plane, and I tend to be quite observant. I often look at the flights to my city with positive anticipation, but I realise that this isn't the case for others. 

Here is 'Burdened'.

When I go back

To the city by the sea, 

There are all sorts of people I see on the plane.

The plane headed to the city with a calm, gentle breeze, 

A plane headed to a city of positive anticipation for some, 

Yet a vessel leading to a city of fear for others.

Those on the plane to this city, 

Are burdened. 

Either from fear, 

Expectation, 

Or anticipation. 

I see one young woman sitting on the aisle near me, 

Hair frizzy, 

Eyes slightly glossed over, 

Fervently swiping through the interactive screen. 

She is wearing grey sweatpants, 

A crimson hoodie, 

Clearly forgetting that the city she is heading to, 

Is full of people suffering from heatstroke. 

In a black, modern font, 

Her hoodie reads ‘McMaster’. 

A pardesi. 

The pardesi fills out the landing card, 

One for those with foreign passports. 

She meticulously fills out the details, 

Curling the characters with a delicate grace. 

Nothing but the colour of her skin, 

The brown of her eyes,

The volume of her hair, 

Indicates that she is from this city. 

But she is. 

Why would she come back? 

She speaks in a North American accent, 

But she says her vowels the Pakistani way. 

I see her expectantly looking out the window, 

Waiting for that familiar skyline to come into view. 

She’s probably only back because her parents are here. 

Her grandparents maybe. 

Perhaps a wedding, 

Or a funeral of some sort. 

Surely this modern, western girl, 

Would not be returning to this city by choice. 

As we land, her eyes close briefly, 

Ever so slightly,

But tightly, 

As if for that one moment she doesn’t want to be here, 

On this vessel to the city. 

Is it fear? 

Probably. 

The last I saw her was when I left the plane, 

And so on that aisle seat she remains;

In her crimson hoodie with frizzy hair,

Burdened,

Burdened by the city, 

The city she was about to see. 

...