It is 11.30 at night- A night train is appearing into our sight- Porters are walking up and down the station, They are keeping watch on train’s arrival with great caution- They are frantic to the passengers- who will get down or may be in hurry to get berth of sleepers, They will call for porters, With the names written up on the door- the porters will carry passengers’ baggage on coach-floor, Berths are cosy with neat counterpane- From the guard up to the bag-men- all remain busy with the train.
With the splash of green signal- the guard confirms, all is normal. With the supervision of station-master- the train prepares for its departure. It is night time, the windows will remain shut, No scenery of fields and remote hut will appear or without any access of dust- passengers will go for a sleep. Only railway caterers will ask for night meal, It is passenger’s choice to go with it or remain still. It is their bed time with newly folded sheet- The night mail is running on line with a speed of rift. It is running to capture the morning as fast as it can- It is waiting for passengers’ tea time in the early dawn.
I hate the self-immolation of orange sex. Weather was leaving blue strings on the skin. Redemption was incomplete by sharing the legs Lips will not knead the ears. Like wakng in darkness for a passage to grief. Black moon will
A volcanic kiss was becoming ungreen. The shark was coming. All night it was raining. The sap was rising and love-farm was deluged. A blue moon walks on the dry eyes. Why the tears had gone to exile? A mole
The dark clouds are rolling in quickly, wild wind blows fast and fiercely Many leaves and twigs start twirling around and circling Feeling like Edgar Allen Poe, In the distance I can hear some echo’s Of many dog’s barking in
Pillage started, when there were anti-answers. The trapped light- wanted to be released, from brutalism. When you were nearly drowned, in the multitude of questions, joining the palms, you collect the moments of solitude. You drop a key in the
As the sun dives into the beguiling sky And the darkness is about to smear the vault of heaven. The mind, then wanders the lonesome places. The moment , when the mollified region is filled with despondency. The night, then