Sat with my back to the wood on this slowest moving train
Witnessing the sunset over the corn field horizon and I strain
To envisage the place where I am to go to next so soon
When enough has been learnt of one destinations swoon
The blowing wind that teases my hair across my face, moving
Wooden carriage empty and I’m alone, the silence is soothing
Jeans tight across my thighs as I recall a moment of her last night
Don’t want to close my eyes for the sky reminds me of my plight
So much of this place I need to see, much of this place called world
No guiding light for me, I wander from time to place to memories curled
Every moment of everyday an uncertainty is crafted from the shapeless
This way no broken heart is felt inside, just scenes to leave one breathless
Tracks start to bend and the body of this train, curls to its directing demise
These silver lines that are the master that the carriages follow, to no surprise
A simple acknowledgement of the granted taken, wiser be my mind today
But for tomorrow a new tune plays in the head of the face, same disarray
Of who the hell I am supposed to be? And what the world wants from me?
Questions, questions, questions yet few are the answers to be said obligingly
Insects above the corn tops dance and play, in bliss of ignorance, of mankind
I can remember a kiss and the last arms that held me, for another I will find
Faces that I will never see again, never to be tied but never to love within
Acquainted, sometimes beyond the physical, a fraternising and pleasuring sin
The most I can expect to have as a heart that wasn’t built for a caged existence?
Although I long for the desire I cannot keep the company of life’s great persistence
Somehow these days will have to end and only in death, can this ever arise
For the wanderer and the nomad, two inclinations melded into a perfect enterprise
Self made, self blamed, never a witness to my crimes because I won’t see them
It’s not the fast life I live, just simply living beyond the existing of equilibrium
For now the sun deepens into the horizon like the distance, swallows the light
A warm breeze turns cooler as another day is concluded again for all its sight
A fatigue encroaches across my sensations, so slowly I begin to fade away
Thoughts of the sound of wheels, on tracks, is the last known sound of this day
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem