Heart is a deserted station.
No trains to stop by…
No loved ones to greet warmly,
Not even grim faces of those
parting ways.
No trace of life_
Nor that familiar sight where
everyone is in inexplicable hurry,
And some cursing
the slow march of time_
Just a doleful quiet, ashen-faced
Seeping out of every corner.
In this moment of gnawing loneliness
I see a big vast desert
grown inside me.
Haunted by its own expanse of desolation…
In eternal wait of a happy caravan
or ……. forever dissipation.
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