Sitting by that pellucid window, with a guileless gaze at the shimmer of railroad iron,
colourful impressions of an exuberant pilgrimage, started flashing in my wavering mind.
When my eyes turned towards the scenes in the coach, cacophony was all set to environ,
amidst the myriad of souls, the joy in that new-found wisdom was truly one of its kind.
All of whose touch we wish to have in our lives, some bound by blood, most others by affection,
seem like this jolly maiden seated next to me, whom I have known now, for little over an hour.
A friendly glance like most days, for the pleasure of journey, or a soft verbose about a selection,
or they could also be the inanimate ones whose cold looks tell me that their day had been sour.
In the world that we live in, these ‘strangers’ seem like passing clouds that bring no rain,
for the world that we dream of, bonds are often woven with transient threads of time.
“But aren’t they all passengers?” – reality just keeps knocking that door, time and again.,
indifferent to our ruminations, their company just resonates with a memory once sublime
As I kept pondering on those lines, it occurred to me that the train had screeched to a stop,
and those few, who were caught with me in interstices of time, were now on their way ahead.
Like lives concatenated together with memories, yet detached like a lotus leaf and dew drop,
If it isn’t my halt, I have to move on; for only an endless fathom awaits in their pursuit instead.