Crouching cosmonauts on wheels

turn into axles
of a recurring dream
where
destinations float alone

The Hungry

The light never dies out.
There is no slip into darkness.
Hunger is up and burning.

History and Geography are redrawn.
Old maps are newly coloured.
But the divisions remain the same.
The conquered and the elusive.

It opens up many mouths within us.
Tills the land, cooks a meal.
Breaks the test tube and sends a rocket.
In our inequation with the universe
we stand on the lesser side.
And we are hungry.

A Train of thought

The journey is in between
the stations of dream and wakefulness.
Minds go over a list of things
Tongues loosen up in the wind.
Out of boredom, a magazine flips itself.
And the country gets talking.
Where are you from? What about you?
Where are you going? Is it so?
What are you doing? Very nice.
Deep questions that admit silly answers.

Silence now, the food arrives.
We are in the belly of
an organism that's rushing on rails.
We are its microbes chewing our life away.
It rushes past unimportant stations.
Like someone who doesn't look back.

The fish plates have not given up yet.
Something is going on in the dark.
A plot. A threat
hangs like the pull chain.
That can stop us all
freezing this moment of life.