Trains.

Trees,  whistle past
A train,
As it forges ahead
With Coaches of Dreams,  broken hearts  and Merry faces.

Fog,  overlays fields sketched in black,
In the winter night,
Like a Picture Tube of its own,
Displaying colours in Black  and White.

Winds, gush in with pace,
Leaving behind no trace,
Of the past,
However big or vast.
That memory was.

Broken hearts,  grow stronger,
Dreams, forage further a step,
These Wheels speak much,
Listen to what they say,
And Pace the past away.
-Anirudh Shankaran.

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2 thoughts on “Trains.

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