Scary self

The homeless are scattered
all over the well lit station.
My journey and I
are glued to the seat.
But my eyes jump across
buzz around them like flies.
They become the lamps carried by
guards searching for any missing links.
They turn into gangmen of that moment.
Make sure I am not derailed.
Crumbs of my many thoughts
get entagled in the sweeping beards.
And the cold shadow of my hand
does for a moment care.

The journey resumes.

But I remember the scene.
I grow heavy taking a mental note of it.
I remember to write it down later.
Hand over the lamp to someone else.
A lamp to be held against the darkness
A lamp that shows our scary self.

Return

Birds returning to their nests
draw the boundaries for the night.
For a moment the network is busy
and the air rends with calls.
I give out a call too.
To all those lost and scattered.
In memory and now.
They all assemble.

Every body's home now.

The pass

A script slowly writes itself
on his numerous lines of wrinkles.
He is a log book kept by the universe.
He raises and waves his hand:
A flag amidst all the commotion
A sail reflecting off the sunlight.
His well being is one-legged
and he limps along in the race.
He is a symbol
through which everything will pass:
Living and non-living.

Twilight vigil

Clouds come in shapes
Turtles, dragons and apes
Water colors them grey
and in the wind they sway
But not a drop spills
from these giant rain hills
It isn't time
It isn't time
Wind writes this on the roads
and the leaves read it out
from those notice boards.
Amidst the scrapers a red moonrise
Its tight rope walk, a daily surprise
The night pulls down the curtains
There's a pillow fight in the sky.

Childhood stations

A revisit to childhood stations
They are soggy, old and small.
Little feet that measured them
are thick skinned now.