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 ……