CHECKMATE THE WIND

 
 
On an overcrowded noisy train
On a seemingly endless journey
I sought shelter in the tiny stinking bathroom
Locked the door & tried not to look
In the mirror at an aging face
Standing & staring into nowhere
Then the echo & rattling of the trestle
Sounding like a foreign film soundtrack
I’m transported to Marrakesh & the crowed streets
Blaring tinny music in the primitive  speakers
Meandering the stalls of the jostling bazaar
Unsure how long my transmigration
But was brought back to the now by
A loud rapping taping upon the door
Startled …..I flush

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TERRENCE SYKES

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