Writers Jam

Get crushed under the weight of strangers bags on your lap during rush hour, Oh lucky traveler, who has found a seat. Get blessed by babies babbling and tottering unsteadily, Oh calloused sinner, who has lost your innocence. Get humbled by stern drunkard uncles who you'll never meet again, Oh sweet child, who still has the world to know.

Talk with the crows on the platform pecking out the peanut shells. Question the "God Loves You" scratched out in the seat in front of you. Raise your voice above the crowd and apologize for coming through as you settle yourself in a corner.

Go there early and tune into the city rustling awake from her disturbed sleep. Sit quietly in the din of the bus and listen to tinny speakers playing melodies lost to time. Eavesdrop on young couples fighting and pick a side in your head for perspective.

Take pictures of hills and lakes zooming by in unknown countrysides. Take along unsuspecting friends on winding roads and see if they can find their way back. Take with you the entirety of your baggage and watch someone inevitably help ease your burden.

Reach out for nonexistent handles on unknown bikes that speed and swerve Death inches away. Hold on to the confessed heartbreaks of lonelier passengers in your back pocket. Clutch at crumpled tickets in sweaty palms praying for someone to validate this journey at the end.

Travel to your hometown during festivals and tell me if you think happiness isn't contagious. Travel back from a funeral and tell me if you think your inescapable sadness isn't mirrored in the outlines of fading route maps. Travel 5 hours a day, everyday for 3 years and tell me if you still believe that the entirety of a person's existence can be explained within homes and hotels.