Tag: train

  • The Journey

    Drawing by Calcifer Shepherd

    We have lingered in the chambers of the sea
    By sea-girls wreathed in seaweed red and brown
    Till human voices wake us, and we drown.

    J. Alfred Prufrock by T. S. Elliott

    As I walk through the world in the morning, I walk through chores:
    Brush my teeth, feed my flesh, lift my eyes and observe the world.
    See the light watch the shadows: frightened and slightly porous
    It is braving the dark, but the darkness remains unfurled.

    Like a puppy, to no avail
    Light is chasing its own tail.
    Ceaseless effort – no rest, no sleep
    Leaves the shadows dark and deep.
    In the forest, the room, the mind
    They just move as they hide behind,
    They never diminish
    Fade out or finish.

    And the dance goes on, like a tide – as it ebbs, it flows.
    And the mind wanders off, but off what and off when – who knows?

    Oh, but time is a funny thing:
    Lucky – spiral, unlucky – ring;
    Snake consuming its own tail
    Has no future, no past, no fail.
    With no fail comes no gain – no foul.
    As ouroboros tries to howl
    It’s unable to rant and rail,
    Mouth gagged with a scaly tale…

    It is time to abandon this train of thought
    As it leaves us nowhere and profits nought.
    If I look the look, talk the talk
    Then I also should walk the walk.

    As I wend my way through the virgin wood,
    All I see are multiple shades of green,
    All I hear is hue, hue and cry of birds
    Known just by the sounds – a sight unseen.
    But my mind gets pulled from the joy sublime
    Of the sight and sound, the leaves and birds
    To the stinging nettles that intertwine
    Unremitting brambles, as sharp as words:
    “Why the fuck did I wear shorts?”

    As I focus on light and sound,
    I forget to attend to thorns.
    Joy is found, but also bound
    By recurrence of cuts and burns.
    The annoyances and the strain
    Can be taken away by train.

    The train that blurs the near spares far,
    Serenely cloudscapes through heavens glide.
    An airplane left antiseptic scar
    Amid the clouds, stumble on the ride.
    Landscape renews and we in comfort cruise,
    But dusty windows engender dusty views.

    A patch of lights through clouds gives me joy
    Untampered, instant and without words.
    It filters down softly to alloy
    Itself with shadows in subtle smooth sensations –
    The joy of pure vision midst the turds
    Of unremitting complications.

    My elasticity declines as I get older –
    Of skin and time, and arteries, and veins.
    My hands and feet – they are a little colder
    Each winter with increase in aches and pains,
    As well as other relevant increases
    In colds and flu with snottiness and sneezes.
    If snake of time contracts then what remains
    Is an attempt to stretch the space with trains.

    Ouroboros of time constricts my breath.
    As body shrinks my mind expands – and shatters
    Its dissolution congruent with death
    But also with infinity of matters.
    What cannot stretch can break and reassemble.
    Abandon frame, you all who enter here.
    Reconstituted, you will still resemble
    Yourself to others, even those near
    And dear, them, who try to fix in space
    Of ageing body time’s dissolving trace.

    At the end of the day we arrive. It’s a velvet curtain.
    The applause increases politely as curtain drops.
    At the end of the day you are feeling alive and certain.
    Your heartbeat is apparent to you just before it stops.

  • Sketching on the train

    The space partitioned by electric wires
    And anchored to the ground by the poles
    Is well and truly caught.
    They cut my vision –
    Straight lines across unending undulation
    Of hills and clouds.
    Ugly not because
    Of shape, but due to insular connections –
    They only touch each other, not the space
    They fracture with the guiltless disregard
    Of those unaware.
    Rest in peace
    My endless space
    Available in pieces.

  • Conversation overheard at the train station

    There is another train, mummy!
    – Yes, there is. But it is not our train.
    – Why is it going, then?

  • Summer Day

    Dried tears of rain
    streaking the window.
    Tired late train
    slogging through the dusty landscape.
    Long summer day
    dragging into the past,
    unheeded.

  • Train

    The train stitches together images,
    like a demented alliterating seamstress,
    cackling to herself
    with the wheels’ rattle,
    stitching wood with water,
    sand with sky,
    space with sadness,
    past with possibilities,
    unseen with unexpected,
    journey with joy.

  • Travel etiquette

    Standing squashed on the train,
    through persistent migraine
    going down the drain
    with the dregs,

    look around and up,
    squeeze your gaze in the gap
    ‘twixt the arms and the crap
    in the bags.

    Think of people inside
    this elaborate hide
    made to coddle and hide
    their fears:

    some are dressed to impress,
    some are dressed to possess,
    some are dressed to undress,
    it appears.

    As they hang off handrails,
    in the hamster-wheel race,
    do your best to embrace
    their sorrow.

    Don’t be sad, don’t be mad.
    Smile and nod, look ahead.
    They or you could be dead
    by tomorrow.

  • Train

    I love train journeys, especially at night.
    Lights, lights, lights – they conceal details and smudge shapes,
    they fill my eyes – imprecise, beautiful, meaningless…
    And the wind – its motion is the same,
    it blows the lights through the night and away,
    it fills my ears with noise and my skin with sensation –
    indistinct, but directional…
    It blows the stars out of the sky and memories out of my mind,
    and I feel so light without the excess weight…

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