I can breathe in the whistle of that approaching train,

Ready for a heart- break, yet once again;

Feeling the evanescent promises which run with the wheels ……..



I can feel that loving touch which you made me dream,

Like that red jelly, on the foams of the white cream;

My coyness succumbs to your thirsty glare in that melody….


I can sense that tone which floats in the wanderer’s lonely hour;

A traveler you are, little I am, a swoony loner;

I wonder at my vacuous pen but the ink still flows…….


I can feel the distance but my obdurate heart still wants to breathe;

Your propinquity scares me, enervates me to face the incursion;

A coma, lying reluctantly in the disheveling sand wishes to sing ……  


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