The terminal poem

Here I am in an alien land looking every bit a freak
trying desperately to understand the name of the language they speak
Wearing the same suit that once smelled good 10 hours back
all i ever want is to go out of the terminal's doors with my pack

I am penny-less, pound-less, currency-less
only a dirty pond can be compared to my journey's holy-mess
Though I was looking forward to being in the terminal when i boarded
not as long as my shaven face getting bearded

The televisions are my only and last resort
where i spent the last 5 hours watching a movie named law of tort
Which taught me that i'd meet the cops' fist
if i messed up with anybody in the terminal's mist

I picked a guy who kept staring at me
slapping him thunder-hard that made him pee
He went straight-up to complain to the terminal's police
while the girl who loved my valour came up to kiss

Finally the cops of the terminal arrived
and with them my hopes revived
They were a  big contingent with guns and the like who walked
and talked which made me feel as if they barked

One in that team knew the language i knew
the bling on his right eye-brow served as a cue
Which was a tradition followed by everybody in my religion
as i thought all my bad time with the terminal were done

I explained all my problems
as he listened patiently wih occassional hmmm's
He assured me his help and promised me to get me out of the terminal
which by now had lost all its mist and was burning like a furnace in hell

He translated and the other cops smiled at me
Aww! It was such pleasure to see
The tough cops get soft and pity
as they joked-back to the terminal's cop-cabin making me think they were witty

I managed an appointment with the terminal's head-of-all-officers
who looked at my dirty-self like I was an embodiment of the planet's curse
As my translator cop did his bit to help me out
as he signed my release-papers thereby ending my bout