To Hug or Not
Poetry Sunday
Passengers sat scattered,
huddled beside the windows, avoiding eye contact.
The crew didn’t smile as I alighted.
The doors opened to a vastly empty airport —
a sombre welcome.
Now I know why they bragged about real estate.
The place was without the aroma of coffee,
mindless mumbling, and electronic beeps;
an eeriness crept through the silence.
There wasn’t much movement save the scuffle of feet
(one hundred and twenty eight, I counted)
and a forlorn conveyor belt.
I couldn’t sense the joy of homecoming —
jaded eyes darted around, as if lost in a strange land,
trying to find their way home.
The ocean of placards clamouring
on the other side of the metal barricade
was now sparse onlookers unwilling to come closer.
I recognised you from your eyes —
the only spark of brightness since this morning.
You were smiling, I could tell, although hidden by a half-veil.
Stuck for months in a foreign land, its people turned aloof.
In a world that grew averse to human touch,
I wondered whether to hug you or not.
