I used to love train stations
They gave me the perfect situations
To think about you
Now it’s the exact reason I hate them
I just sit in the corner-most bench
And your thought drops like the first drop of  the rain
Then it is all a downpour from there
I get so lost in you
That I end up staring at my own reflection in my glasses
I try to diffuse it all
By focusing on the crows, the crowds and the cars
But they lead me back to you again
You’re loud like these black birds
I see your face in these crowds
And the cars remind me of your obsession with them
It hurts just to think about you
I check the time again and again
One more station
Till the arrival of my train
So I can escape from here

I used to love trains
They gave me the perfect realm
To think about you
Now it’s the exact reason I hate them
I just sit in the corner-most seat
And your thought drops in as the train starts moving on the track
It harmonizes with the click-click-clacks
I get so lost in you
That I end up staring at my own reflection in the window
I try to succumb to sleep
By listening to songs, with melodies come memories
But they lead me back to you again
Almost like all the songs in the world are about you
You’re my love and my anguish, my inside and out
My first, and my last, like I have turned into nothing but you
It hurts just to think about you
I check the time again and again
One more station
Till I’m home
So maybe I can escape from you

Just maybe…

The roads of my town were deflowered
By your car quite some time ago
But the streets of my town remain untouched
Yet to be walked on by you

So come to my town
And I will light the pavements with oil lamps
Leading to my home
The stores will be closed, no one will be around
I will wait for you
Underneath the pallor moon and pinpricks of stars
Everything will be quiet
Only distant clatters and passing cars

Find me, in the middle of street
Gleaming in the dark blue haze
These streets have seen better days
but they are pretty

We will walk on the flagstones
All alone
Gently hold my hand
And tell me your jokes
I will make sure not to laugh too loud
Can’t make a fuss, waking up the crowd
Explore these labyrinths together
We will never get lost with each other
In this chosen time, we will be young forever

Feel the trembling walls of this city
As the train from the near railways passes by
The last breathes of dying summer will be so pretty
Walking below the sky of bougainvillea
We will talk about only you and me
Call me by the name that you gave
And I will show you my future grave
My favorite hiding spot
The haunted vacant lot

And when the golden begins the strangle the dark blue
We will run back to my home, enter my room
Find our way to my bed on tiptoe
Hold me tightly as we witness our first sunrise together
Hold me tightly before you go

And when you will go,
I will watch your back fading away
There is nothing I can say to make you stay
These freshly bleeding streets pine for you
So if you decide to come to me
By mistake or when you are led astray
I will stand in the same place of the city
These streets have seen better days
But they are pretty

Such a windy eve
The dark clouds are covering my porcelain sky
I’ll be leaving tomorrow’s morning
Are the gathering to cry?
My head is muddled and I am frightened
I am restless as it is all too sudden
I’ll be leaving my home, my town soon
With heavy heart, I amble on my balcony
Suddenly, there is gleam
From the distance crevice of heaven
It seems the sun isn’t ready to sleep
The gold feasts at the tips of the smoky clouds
In the cracks of my sky, honey pours all over it

Such a windy eve
I spread my hands open
The cool gust passes through the gaps of my fingers
I can feel it, the farewells
As though I am the heart of this town
Taking in all the essence
I can hear it, every little thumping heart
Every bird, every child
This town, never asleep, never silent
Tomorrow I’ll just be a memory
So Why not a happy one
I look forward to the life calling me
My star will always light the sky, wherever I’ll be

Your body jerks as you heave yourself out of bed.
The clock reads 5am.
Your phone vibrates,
It’s here.
The countdown is over.

A few long hours,
And caffeinated up,
You arrive,
The sun dances on your skin.

Unpack, freshen up,
Then hit the streets.
You wander aimlessly,
And endlessly.

Eating, sleeping, drinking and waking,
Whenever your body clock requires.
The schedule has been stripped,
Your busy days gone.

You set the rules,
You make the decisions.

Want to people watch with a glass of wine,
Why not?
Want to wander and look at the buildings,
Why not?
Want to sleep in,
Why not?

It’s your trip,
Your story,
Your travels.

The only person you have to depend on is you.

Visually enriched individuals; you flee where you wish to, and close your eyes with the view last in mind.
Nationwide and far away; you meet peoples whom I only read about in books and see diversity in another world.
I wish I could say that I didn't envy you. But I really do;
For sure I have some beloved locations, for sure I meet my family, but in this particular case I'm an empty body, to wish something, I should fear being silenced.
My mind stores it all;
I've engraved the mountains in my head and locked them tightly in my memories, I remember faces, prices, expressions and sounds, my senses get perplexed in a really good way.
I hope to flee and not complain.

First glances are strong and ripe,
First touch is like a midnight musk against my skin,
Right leg goes over and i'm sitting on my black beauty Virago,
She's a warrior, fierce as fire and brings light into my darkness.
Everyone tells me "you're" dangerous but can't they see i enjoy the thrill of the rush between my legs as the rumble dream continues further unto highway 10.
Fresh crisp air, blue sunny sky, these are moments i'll remember when i'm older, true and genuine.
I love my motorcycle and always will,
no one can ever change the rumble dreams i have for my ride.

Getting out of one’s comfort zone,
Trying out travelling alone,
Making decisions that are risk-prone,
Is no doubt difficult - like trying to live without a phone!


Often leads to breakdowns,
Often makes one look like a clown
And often makes one frown.


But then if one doesn’t live for these things,
They are just like a bird without wings.
Even if their day-to-day life doesn’t sting,
They miss out on life and all that it brings.

It’s really, truly morbid, how my vehicle came to me,
Twas’ the death of a friend of a friend of a friend
Of a friend who was close to thee
He was dead when I got your keys.  
I find that I’m quite infatuated, by your shining, crimson flair  
And your window that squeaks, and your faux leather seats,  
Stained carpets and central air
Who knew trucks could be debonair?  
Shall I name all life’s pains that mean naught in you?
Like that person who says, and then he says, and she says
They all say, and then it is true
So, I drive to find new points of view.
We will thrive on gasoline fumes and the human will
Until the ground is ****** dry and wells shot
Till then, freedom, adventure, and hidden hills
Will be ours, you and I, Bombadil.

Crossing the eastern stream,
I met a friend.
His shell, hard as he slowly
traverse across the water.
Crouching down, I asked him.
Oh turtle, why do you move so slow,
Yet never stop inching forward?

Dear diary;
I have thought a lot
about leaving this all behind
and buying a one-way ticket
to anywhere where no one
knows my name.
I want to forget who I am
and lose myself
in another's culture.
I want to stay until I tire
and do it all again
somewhere else.