Tryst With Journeying

a poem by Aishwarya

Chucking away like a bustling train,
Swirling like a coiling snake,
Smoking soot and breathing dust,
This Train moving into a futile trail.

And then are there travelers,
Who stare artfully into space,
Stranded in thought, some even out of thought,
The world somehow is their craze.

Moving aimlessly to and fro,
Within the stuffed compartments,
Sensing a kind of emptiness,
That leaves a callous dent!

And then shoving the air about,
Why this restlessness, this sense of doubt?
Then retrace the steps back to the seat,
Amidst the lull, amidst the heat.

Arriving stations bring cranky vendors,
Who sail heads into crowds,
Their reason to survive becomes a deadness,
Why this ignorance like a shroud?

And then we see people alight,
Out of the train world,
Into the dizzy flavour of reality,
Perplexing minds like surds.

Journeying like tired pilgrims,
Awaiting an awakening,
Yet knowing not how it shall spring,
And gazing obliviously into the dark booming tunnel,
Where tracks echo like racing hoofs,
All sounds of the world collapse,
Only the murderous call to freedom!

Even this train has a destination,
Where it begins again,
Waving the green mast of departure,
Which is yet another beginning,
Encircling the same railed route,
Through the same dim dark tunnel,
Over the same weak bridge,
And with the same mysterious travelers!

And each moving train,
With sinking grief hails a reflection,
Of the Train we move in,
Rubbing shoulders with fellow travelers,
Our journey reducing to a noisy perception of details,
Embedded in a fictitious world,
Heading onward into a resounding tunnel,
Unmindful of its sudden appearance,
Unconcerned about the tunnel’s end…