The whistle sounded, the train chugged
The journey began as many unplugged
Fates were rested on solid tracks
Scraps of iron responsible for their backs

Compartmentalised boxes carried varying stories
Some call it a divide, others settle for categories
Some boxes resplendent with ornaments and gilding
Others modest with unembellished finishings

Whatever the setting, the views didn't discriminate
One only had to look out if one had to rejuvenate
The landscapes never spoke, but the passengers listened
As if nature's lyrics were intently written

Each swayed by the drama of their lives
On a journey assumed with predestined stops
No one saw an impending halt
On unfinished tracks and an unexpected drop

If unspoken words were to be exchanged,
What would they have been
If unasked questions were to be answered,
Would they have freed one from within

Blue ink was no friend
Blue ink was the most boring plan
For the trees and hills Suzy ran
When Mama came with a stick in her hand

For months and years Suzy despaired
This forced acquaintance she wished to be spared
This Hulk of a character Mama'd personify
This waste of time, she knew not why

I just wanna be free, Suzy lamented
An uproarious laughter, with which she was greeted
Why do you act all so tormented, said this voice
Without blue ink, you will be mistreated

How do you carve a path of your own
How do you enforce a right you wouldn't have known
How do you right a wrong you don't condone
How do you condone life when left alone

To the books and pages Suzy ran
Devouring much material in the given span
In a solid colour, she saw a world of wonder
In its simple strokes, there was no more to be coaxed

In happiness and despair, Suzy was elevated
In health and sickness, she knew to be liberated
In company and solitude, Suzy was educated
In wealth and poverty, she knew she had profited

Blue ink had granted her the highest of privileges
For to live well, is to live with choice
A coveted privilege, with which we rejoice

The moon has its ways of inspiring awe,
Taking on different forms, challenging static notions of identity—
And when it chooses to shine bright, it affirms it has never been any less a whole—

And if stories are what our lives are
To live is to dance to the narrator’s tune

Some stories go hand in hand
Some stories go thither in pursuit of another

Sometimes we narrate our chapters
Sometimes our chapters narrate themselves

In stories we seek reason
In reason we seek conclusion

But if the narrator’s narration does not make sense
The actors cope thru a different lens

There are many of us
Yet few like us
Different tho we might be
Least we know our difference together

I felt alone
And you extended your solace
A comforting refuge
In fight and in counsel

Now my days fall silent
And I seek your voice
Have you indulging my quirks
Or chiding my folly

Try as I might
To fill this void
Words are spoken
Yet silence persists

Wherever you are
I miss you my friend
Wherever you are
You are but far

Particles collate, clouds gather
An uprising it seems, stronger together
Resolute it stands, till it holds no further
As any body collapses, under mounting pressure

Little drops to torrential downpour
The inconvenience it brings, just what we abhor
Struggle we must with virtuous patience
If we are to enjoy befallen petrichor

Trees are fed, flowers bloom
From this garden, brilliance loom
As all things present, this too is transient
A reality so poignant, about an existence impermanent

Leaves frail, flowers wither
Consumed by soil from which it consumed
No such thing as eternal bliss
Such are the laws of our symbiosis

We arrive from dust and depart as stench
A reality from which, we shouldn't flinch
As we gaze into a horizon so eternal
All we have, are moments so ephemeral

If your gaze was ink
What stories — would it write
And if I should read those words
How then — should I read them right