The Waiting Room

I sit on the wooden bench

Like a crumpled piece of paper

Thrown in disgust

Crippled by the endless wait

Passengers pass by unheeding

As everyone has a race to comply

The old screeching ceiling fan

Mocks at my drops of sweat

Overloaded trains of emotions

Arrive at terminals

Without announcements

Every soul nearby

Searches frantically for

A berth of unattended comfort

Tired of bereavement

The dusty clock

Stands still to changes of time

Few opportunists here and there

Greedy to trade

And make immense

In solitary confinement

My soul stands ages behind

Adhered to the spot

Where someday

You infused fresh hope of life

You have moved on

Expecting me to even do so

But I am still in the waiting room

Expecting the arrival of

My train that is ever so late...