Tokyo rush hour

I

A crowded subway’s like a jungle
Overgrown with vines.
You have to chop your way inside
By various designs

On trains in Tokyo, I read,
They prod you in with poles,
Like cattle to the slaughterhouse,
Resigned to certain roles.

Though here it isn’t quite as bad,
I let some trains go by.
When sardine folks glance out at me

But finally, I’ll brave my way
And worm myself a place,
Surviving as a member of
this crazy human race

II

Tell me, please tell me, what this plot is all about.. Exactly, who resides within me?
I’m broken, so broken – amidst this world. Yet you laugh, blind to everything.

I hold my breath,
And it can’t be unraveled, it can no longer be unraveled.. Not even the truth. (Freeze)
Breakable; unbreakable – psychotic; unable to go insane
I’ll found it, and..!

In this shaken, twisted world, I gradually become transparent, unable to be seen.
Please don’t bother looking for me; don’t stare at me..

Infinitely spreading, solitude wraps around me. Memories of times I laughed innocently comes to mind,
And I can’t move, can’t move, can’t move, can’t move, can’t move, I cannot move!
Unravelling the world

I’ve changed; I couldn’t go back to the way I was.
As the two twines around one another, the both of us will perish away..
Breakable; unbreakable – psychotic; unable to go insane
I can’t afford to let me be defiled!

Paralyzed by the fact that I’ve changed,
In a paradise filled with nothing but unrecoverable things,
I just can’t move.

III

I describe
this wounded city in an
unending internal
monologue as I follow
the signs to Tokyo Station and
descend into the
underground passages
of the metro,
seeking life and anything bright
in this half-lit, humid midnight.

I find the train finally
to Shibuya, the Piccadilly
and Times Square of Japan?
and even there the lights
are dimmer and the neon
that does remain
is all the more garish by
contrast.
I cross the street
near a sign that says
“Baby Dolls” in English
over a business that turns
out to be a pet
shop, of all things.

Like
the Japanese, I sometimes feel I live
in reduced circumstances, forced to proceed with caution:
A poorly chosen
adjective, a
mangled metaphor
could so easily trigger the
tsunami that
sweeps away the containment
facilities that
protect us
from ourselves
and others.

Asia Japan Just some poetry travel poetry

Georgie Bolam View All →

Student Journalist, Creative Writer, Poet, Traveller, Eco Warrior

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