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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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First published in Indian Sahitya, Feb 2017 Issue on Contemporary Indian Poetry

Objects in the rear-view mirror are…

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