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A Train Journey to Hyderabad

As the sleeper class coach hurtled on iron rails, I found myself gazing out of the window, the wind catching what remains on my balding head.

It was the Carriage's willingness to be lead by the engine that surprised me. It kept pace and hurried behind the big boss, trusting that HE will lead the way. The landscapes changed from urban grime to barren wasteland to paddy fields awaiting harvest. Soon, the dusk fell upon us, and there was more light inside than outside.

By the time I could make sense of the journey, sleep had invaded me. I woke up at 4.00 in the morning and found a cab home.

The train was neither sad not happy that I was no longer a traveler. It's a journey it has to make, and that's about all it ever needed to know.

As the car entered my residence, I could hear a Siren honk somewhere in the distance.

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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

Clarity

I have looked at myself
From the edges of reason
And discovered
That both my sanity and insanity
Springs forth like seasons
Out of my distances from you. Realizing thus
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
When otherwise.

Long Winter Chill

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.