The Rush Hour Dreamer

                     The Rush Hour Dreamer

The morning sun rises,

over the city of London

one cold November's day,

and you're torn,

from the solitude of sleep

keep

dreaming 

dear

as you switch off your alarm

stay calm

and get ready,

for the day.

You leave

and so do they

and slowly the tube

fills with suits

routes-

intertwined.
Go on, and shine-  

You have a story to share

but you never dare

to look him in the eye

Why?

He does,

He looks

and he yearns

and he learns

from you,

the people

of the city too.

across the platform

you will find him

standing, waiting, 

creating

stories in his mind

you will find

he's always there

amidst the warmth

of the crowd-

the train,

a place to regain
clarity.

Life is fraught
with injury

he thought

every morning-
and every morning

you're throwing it away

sleepwalking from day to day

playing games,

twiddling thumbs

he hums

to himself.

So am I. 

So let us waste 

the days, together 

these tethers chain us 

of social conformity

norms, 

different forms 

of being.
Let us break these bounds
that confound
us.

You saw him

twice, thrice

a million times.

What a strange thing,

rush hour on the tube.

With nowhere to go

 he grows!

He grows and ages

with the changing of paces
and the changing of lines-
black and yellow and blue

and so do you. 

He never misses his train

for his train of thought

departs with it.

The rush hour dreamer

alone, is prone

to outbursts, 

yet- in a crowd
remains unknown...