Strands of Time

Class:11: The Trip

The sleepy boy from eighth grade,

Heavy on my shoulder like a spade.

The funny girl from tenth,

Has curled up on one side,

All energy spent.

The driver and the guide sitting shotgun,

Have love for the kind of music that makes you,

Want to shy away and run .

Soon it's hard to see, 

Because there is too much sun.

The friendly teacher at the back,

along with the quiet boy with the earphones,

Plugged in 24/7.

Who is probably in music heaven.

But just can't relax.

It's an endless road,

We are all in the same boat.

I don't know how long we will last.

Time is running slow and fast.

We have been waiting hours on end,

In the same parking lot's bend.

Our freedom's been put on hold.

We are foreign germs,

Till we have been examined and brought to terms,

With this land's rules.

Until then, every glance our way ,will be suspicious and cold.

Now, its dark outside,

They said it wouldn't take long, but they lied.

Oh, this road trip,

And  I won't lie,

Is sweeping our patience dry.

It's sad to say,

But starting tomorrow---

Everything will go back to being ,

The same as every other day.

It will be like this trip never happened.

I'm saddened to think that's what,

It will come to be.

Just another memory.

So what hope do i have to believe,

The friendships and bonds that were formed, will live?

At times like this, even the thought of it feels naive.

This trip is starting to seem,

Like something out of a dream.

Author's Note: I wrote this as a commemoration of  my first trip outside of my new school. although it was nothing special. Just a foreigner's registration trip to the nearest local police station, although nothing special happened, just for half a day I felt I became close to a bunch of the oddest people thrown together because of need. Even during that time , it felt surreal . I knew deep inside , such bonds rarely last. And in some cases I was right.