In a late night train I travelled
the windows bore vague marks
of silent rain. I was the only passenger-
where was everyone?
Was all this orchestrated
that I would be left alone
to converse with my sorrow?

Tired looked the moon- sickly
would best describe
its strange paleness
was it sharing this moment with me?
no--it had no heart and couldn't feel-
yet my imagination ran wild as the wind
drifted in the night air as though with a voice
that seemed to say: I am in pain
but humans don't care nor understand'--

(there's always mystery in the night
only to walk in the absence of light
when no human is near or in sight
the chronicler of every human plight)--

squeezed into the immediacy
of time in hours beyond midnight
the drone of engine I likened
to an ailing old man's
incessant monotonous cough
and groan--with no respite--

(why do people dislike
and fear the night
looking at the ticking clock
hoping for early morning light?)

I wouldn't mind
if the train had no stops
with no destination
for me to alight

the silent drama
would thicken
between
the three--
the moving train
the night
and me.