Friday, January 27, 2017

Sweating Train

I get up like clockwork, check my time left. See my beloved's face sleeping in peace. There seems to be a bit of sanity left yet. Cannot be sure.
Sun's is dawning, veins crawling and there is a bit of venom still instilled in the self. Get up move on, before death creeps up. This day or the next - yes it is around the corner waiting for all without bias

The toil is taking its toll and there is no cure.
                                                                     There is one more born on this hour - beloved's grace godlike face. Nothing going to stop the stands of time. The universe conspiring for the birth to take place and the born to step up and move on. This is the circular evolution of time and space.

Standing waiting for the train to arrive on the station, nothing gonna catch me as a surprise, or will I let it?
Image result for mumbai train painting

Why be born when we are gonna spend all of our precious time on this train station - waiting for that goddamned train, waiting for us to grow old insane; waiting till time swallows us up whole - waiting for someone to get up from their seats for us to save our souls.

I am not dictating another way, but a feeling of unity - that which I feel sitting getting pushed inside the compartment of this sweating train. They come and go - chit chat a little to make one feel a little in the mix and inevitably everyone disperses. I stay quiet till the end arrives, get out slow without anyone dictating my arrival time.
There is subtle godliness in this moment - when the train arrives on the station and whistles past. I get up and rush inside - the zen awakens with a million fly past me jumping hither thither for a inch's space.

As the train jerks here and there, the heads bob up and down - outside the kids rummaging the tracks and shitting their pants on the ground, this may be the heaven once thought about by our gods. This may be the hint of our sweet redemption. Sitting claustrophobic for one to light a match, sitting waiting endlessly for a random station to light up the signals in our rummaged neural track. Sitting waiting for death to cross us over twice or more. Sitting here waiting for our sweat to slowly pour (and mingle unto another)

Now the sun is setting and everyone is back to their matchbox homes, leaving the compartments all on desolation row. In the darkness sometimes I fail to arrive, I sit in the darkness and let myself cry.
Where hence has humanity become the program it now specifies, get up and move inside metal worms to show its productivity and efficiency besides.
I pray sincerely and in between my tears I laugh a little, as if the sweat of the day has become an extension through the tears at night. I pray for calamity to strike and that these trains may stop one day. In between stations and time, leaving people in a delirious limbo - striking delight. That there be spontaneity sublime and people leave their programmed existence even for a moment
I pray and cry and sweat and try and why dont you do the same. Where the train shall stop moving and we be still waiting in the compartment for nothing but the moment to grab hold of us, wreck us and remake us again.

Peace and enjoy the slow train acoming!

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