There was this blue train that used to run through yellow fields of mustard. I also remember green Paddy fields dotted with greasy diesel pumps, scarecrows and peacocks. But that was a long time ago. Maybe my memory plays truant with me. Maybe the fields were not all that green and the train all that blue. But pray don't tell me that those were not fields of mustard and that was not I riding that train and you traveling with me.
When it was time for her to go, it was also time for me to
let go. Once an irritant is washed out, they say you can start seeing better
immediately. All that stupid tears and all that rubbing of the soul, until your
eyelids would cry out, no more, no more. And then, just like that, one fine
day, I wake up, and she was gone. As
the train chugged out
The tracks cried out in senseless
creaks of half despair
If I could do a Neruda,
You would have smelt of summer roses
And Autumn pine.
There would have been sheer love
Of the kind that causes our hearts to ache
And loneliness bordering the divine.
You would have had so many secrets
Welling up as in a girly giggle
And so few friends who would hear them all.I am no Neruda
I can't paint you a Summer breeze
Amidst this long winter chill.
I have looked at myself
From the edges of reason
That both my sanity and insanity
Springs forth like seasons
Out of my distances from you.
I have allowed the outer rims
Of my diffused sanity
To fritter away into crumbs
Of misplaced memories
From my time with you.
I have often found myself being unreasonable
When I am away from you.
And generally insane