Ode to a train

Post by Sanjay Ghosal—

Good evening train, good evening train; 
Took my 'boy'- friend to the hills
Too much rain, too much mist; 
'Boy' is the one my friend kills.

Good morning train, Good morning train; 
Bringing back friend to me
All the rain, all the mist; 
Now the 'boy' belongs to thee.


Post by Author—

The 'boy' died long ago
And distances just seemed to grow
The train carries his frozen frame
As feelings too have lost a name;
Mist outside, rain within
Pasts... presents collide, cave in—
Spent 'love' is all he could feel
Yet...the 'friend' remains...and always will.

To Kanchenjungha

For you could not be seen, you could not be seen
As my eyes strove to find their tear-kin,
For I knew then, as I know now—
That all beauty is meant to die somehow...
When my hand reached out and clutched his sleeping frame,
I knew then, too, this love had no name.


I smelled his breath, I tasted his woe
Even as my heart dreamed of the golden snow;
I lost my self with each thrust of his weight,
And regained my self in the frozen cold after-sweat.
May the mist clear, may the traces remain,
Even as I may not hear this song again.

Stranded-
Between being and space
Stranded-
For defiling rosebuds.
Books stare
And monuments gaze
The recalcitrant self
Still seeks approval...
Reckoning nothingness
Empty introspections.
They thrive
On goat's milk and ashes...

Sigh-soaked pillows
Can seldom compete
With great sex;
My dreams are dry.
Can you recall the last time
You soaked me with lust?

The pillow smiles back
Calls me names
Finds me ugly.
My dreams are dry.

Melancholia

On days such as this
She sits
Throat parched
For want of a few drops of nicotine.

They gaze at her
Myriad questions in their eyes
Is she mad?
Or did the sun just bake her black?

On days such as this
She sits
Lost in her thoughts
Of fallen towers and run-down mosques.

They drift by like leaves,
Few pity her
Most are just curious
Is she mad?
Or did the sun just bake her black?

On days such as this
She waits
For the nothingness of nothing,
Perhaps she has seen
Kali’s dance on the flames.

They don’t see her any more
Even as they pass,
They know
She turned mad
When the sun baked her black.

Was all well
On this end of eternity?
Here she had stood
Beneath his sails,
Singing out to the sea.

Was all well
On this end of eternity?
Here she came
And waited each day,
Eyes searching the sea.

Was all well
On this end of eternity?
In dreams she saw
The face she loved
And heard the summons of the sea.

Was all well
On this end of eternity?
He returned,
Tired of mortality
To find her drowned at sea.

The Blue Lotus

Beneath erring seas
She waited
Cursed by mortality...

He knew her
Only fleetingly,
And all he remembered
Was her trail...

She watches him now
From her watery grave;
She watches him...
The man with the white beard
And the stick.
He walks still
Seeking the petals
Of his blue lotus.