its amazing what we’re capable of when pressed;
lunar launches
and shaman healing
hail marys
and fortunes of gold
heavy hauls
and broken borders
war, compassion
and treaties of peace

all those wild and lofty regressions from the mean;
soul re-settings
(from deadly deeds)
scores and scriptures
liberty and peace
walls, asylums
(in the jaws of defeat!)
channeled spirits
of warmth
and love
and connection

and sometimes, it’s just a little fodder;
pyramids and viaducts
aqua-lines and chunnels
spider climbs
and deep dives
(with base jumps near the high wire)
gardens, and divine art
and even water boards
(for beauty is always in the eye of the beholder!)

have a look around...
and let gratitude be your guide

Can I be considered a good leader if those that follow ultimately fail in my absence?

Is the artist only as good as the canvas upon which she brings her creations to life?

I suspect not.

Therefore I am a failure as my legacy is covered in the blemishes of the fallen. Viaducts down, Rome sacked as what once was great is now nothing more than tales told by those who choose to live in the past.

But I am young.

Thus I return to the scene of my crime, hastily departed, left reeling, a drunk short a drink and a sympathetic ear, and I begin anew.

Perhaps this time I will impart some wisdom to allow those that can to light their own path, so that this time when I depart they will stand resolute and face the coming dark with the certainty of knowledge, of awakened minds.

Wish me luck.

I deeply miss those days
When I used to travel
Of course, not just by any vehicle
But a vehicle with a thousand wheels
Clattering away on iron rails
Like there is no tomorrow
A vehicle I had fallen for
Hook, line and sinker
Since the age of two
A love that I refuse to let go of
And a love that refuses to let go of me!

I deeply miss those days
When we railfans got together
Not simply to eat and drink
Not simply for some chat-chit
But to follow our passion
And shoot videos of trains
Thundering away into the sunset
Like there is no tomorrow

I deeply miss those days
When we railfans got together
And did train trips using circuitous routes
Akin to moving from the head to the mouth
Via the entire body!

I deeply miss those days
When I used to do solo train trips
On a monthly basis
Sometimes, even twice a month
An ideal way to **** work stress!

I deeply miss those days
When I used to write blogs
About every trip of mine
And post them in IRFCA
The largest association of railfans
At least as far as India is concerned
Including many railway officials
With an encyclopedia of information
About the Indian Railways
Whether it be the locomotive classes
Whether it be the train operations
Whether it be the timetables
Or even the food!

I deeply miss those days
When I used to lie down
Not on a bed, but a berth
And get lulled into sleep
By the gentle swaying motion
The rhythmic clickety clack
And, occasionally
The melodious chugging
Or the mesmerising humming
Of the roaring diesel
Hauling our train
Accompanied by its horn
Which itself, was music to the ears!

I deeply miss those days
When I used to sit on my Side Lower Berth
And watch scenery fly past me
As we traversed the countryside
The villages and the small towns
The cattle, goats and sheep
The farms and paddy fields
The bushes, shrubs and trees
The ponds, lakes and rivers

I deeply miss those days
When I used to travel the Konkan route
Through a plethora of bridges and tunnels
Lakes, rivers and mountains
And a plethora of greenery
Accompanied by the fierce chugging
Of the ALCO engine hauling us
Or the rhythmic humming
Of the EMD engine hauling us
Of course, it was a diesel heaven!

I deeply miss those days
When I used to travel by "toy trains"
Whether it be the Neral-Matheran train
Or the Kalka-Shimla train
Or the Siliguri-Darjeeling train
It was so romantic
The way we crawled
Right through the heart of the mountains
With a plethora of tunnels
Bridges, viaducts and loops
After all the high speed drama earlier
It was a surreal change
Enjoying the scenery at our own pace
While getting overtaken by joggers
And sometimes, even animals!

I deeply miss those days
When I used to get down
As we stopped at a station
One of so many in our journey
And take a walk on the platform
To check out our loco
And sip from a piping hot cup of coffee!

I deeply miss those days
When we travelled in single-line sections
And our train came to a halt
At a nondescript wayside station
With a platform on only one side
And total darkness on the other side!
I waited for the signal on that line
To turn green, after a while
And heard, from a great distance
The horn of an approaching train
Followed by the lamps of its engine
As it proceeded to burn the tracks
And raise a great heap of dust
Thus shattering the calm of the night

I deeply miss even those days
When I used to go to office daily
Commuting by the famous Mumbai locals
As the train pulled into Vikhroli
I staggered into the First class compartment
Packed to the hilt
With pretentious male executives
Filling the air with testosterone
Such that it was quite a challenge
To even inhale the air properly
It was quite a relief
When Dadar arrived
But then came another challenge
The famous changeover
From Central to Western Railway
Across a sea of commuters
Followed by a brief ride
In another train, to Lower Parel
By the time I reached office
I was drenched in sweat
From head to toe
Not to mention, thoroughly fatigued
What to do?
After all, this is what life is
For the average Mumbaikar

I deeply miss those days
When train travel was the norm
Rather than the exception
However, as far as I am concerned
COVID19 may have taken me out of the train
But it certainly can't take the train out of me!

plot out distances between freckles
and count the amount of hairs;
in a beauteous analysis
a cold witnessing
of)a featured lifeless gaze
projected onto windows
refracted in time with the pounding
from lost soulless ghouls
in a dank puddled basement
as we stare through keyholes

the length of life waits to rescind
to wash up on the shoreline
anew, once refreshed
with Angina on

wading in cyclic waves
in deposits of reveries
stale orangeade sonatas
and dull area tirades


the purpose
economized

every axiom
americanized

and as your atoms become depersonalized
tension is materialized, in ornate ivory
shattered brass instruments rusted by
novels written to god
in a
fractured light
and range

cramped in a curtailed distance
a brickwall deadend universe
gnashing with frustration
****** yawns of futility

closed viaducts
and vacant lots
deafened eyes, grey
glimmering in retort
to their own expression


blind sight was squandered by the snapback, of all the
strings of the orchestra as they were simultaneously snipped
by sharp prying eyes, listening to the mixing of paint
to smell the music, its arms limp, vivid
wishing to pull you back (in hindsight)
with dreaded, deadened incantations
a dithyrambic liturgy to the drunken thoughtless night
of slurred litanies and unappeasable, irascible deities
lonely and immaculate, all-powerless and deft
in irksome quarrels and arguments
glossed over by the fine print of another
exalting the vainglorious self-inscribed paragons
and revelling every inadmissible mistake

gazing past to a solo star
dumbstruck and dead
from an evaluation
and dehydration

dying to know
forget it.

I'm gonna try,
And I'm gonna fail.
Then I'm gonna try, try, try,
And I'll try again.

I'm gonna lose,
Time and again.
But, I'm gonna keep playing, baby,
Because someday I'll win.

The longer it takes,
The sweeter it will taste.
The prize is the flavor,
And it's love that I'll savor.

So, if you brush me aside,
Just know I'll be waiting,
My patience, enduring
And love, unabating.

My faith, my desire,
Knows no limitations.
You'll know me one day,
Meanwhile, no lamentations.

As rises the sun,
With certain precision,
And shine do the stars,
Through the vast expansion,

I'll be just like clockwork,
I won't let you down.
When you need someone be to be there,
Know I'll be around.

I sorta needed you, baby.
I kinda wanted you, dear.
I hoped you would call on me,
When you wanted someone near.
I guess it wasn't my time,
And maybe he's who you want.
It's sad that you gave in
To his virtueless vaunt.
These grapes are not sour.
They are sweet on the vine.
My love in undaunted.
Still, here I wait.
I wish that he could make you happy.
He doesn't have what it takes.
The moment you know that,
Then know I await.
From under the viaducts,
And the shadows beyond the stage,
Behind heavy curtains,
Let my love asage.

You know we should crash like the cymbal.
You know we should anger the Sea.
You know that the sky should rumble
In praise of our unity.

I'll keep thinking that I'm next to you,
Cause sometimes thinking is all a man can do.
I'll long for your embrace,
If you would only give me grace,
I would give my world to you.

A cool cloudburst from up high will cleanse this *****
metropolis ..Overfilling the gutters and storm sewers , the viaducts
and retaining ponds , filthy black tar streets , sidewalks crying for
upkeep ..
Rid this unkempt town of dreaded pollen and factory dust ,
stagnant pools of non-potable creek water , scrub the tarmac
at the city airport ..
Wash the 'Big rigs' , the trailers , the railheads , buses and the commuter locations . Shine her tall skyscrapers , her radio towers and her subway stations ..
Polish the walkways , the store fronts and the precious , park greenery ..
Refill the birdbaths , the fishing ponds and the vibrant lakeland scenery ..

plot out distances between freckles
and count the amount of hairs;
in a beauteous analysis
a cold witnessing
of)a featured lifeless gaze
projected onto windows
refracted in time with the pounding
from lost soulless ghouls
in a dank puddled basement
as we stare through keyholes

the length of life waits to rescind
to wash up on the shoreline
anew, once refreshed
with Angina on

wading in cyclic waves
in deposits of reveries
stale orangeade sonatas
and dull area tirades


the purpose
economized

every axiom
americanized

and as your atoms become depersonalized
tension is materialized, in ornate ivory
shattered brass instruments rusted by
novels written to god
in a
fractured light
and range

cramped in a curtailed distance
a brickwall deadend universe
gnashing with frustration
****** yawns of futility

closed viaducts
and vacant lots
deafened eyes, grey
glimmering in retort
to their own expression


blind sight was squandered by the snapback, of all the
strings of the orchestra as they were simultaneously snipped
by sharp prying eyes, listening to the mixing of paint
to smell the music, its arms limp, vivid
wishing to pull you back (in hindsight)
with dreaded, deadened incantations
a dithyrambic liturgy to the drunken thoughtless night
of slurred litanies and unappeasable, irascible deities
lonely and immaculate, all-powerless and deft
in irksome quarrels and arguments
glossed over by the fine print of another
exalting the vainglorious self-inscribed paragons
and revelling every inadmissible mistake

gazing past to a solo star
dumbstruck and dead
from an evaluation
and dehydration

dying to know
forget it.

Handshake

Extended arms overcome to reconcile
what was once divided and separated.

Perhaps one or both has to reach out
further, even to a protracted cantilever.

Age, tradition and culture arch backs
but a bow does not mean genuflection.

Traversing a span to overcome and reach
beyond voids of indifference takes ingenuity.

That which connects links of a chain
straddling the sprocket, is a split pin.

The cross of Calvary did not vex Jesus but
we let anger obliterate our viaducts of life.

Yet rehabilitation is achievable, 427 years
of damaged history was restored at Mostar.

Parable of Mikeas: “Once upon a time, the donkey Mikeas, where he lived with a villager near Profitis Ilias, walking near this promontory, m always called his attention to the water layers that tickled him because of the orogeny where he rested his feet. In the low degree of donkey evolved from him, with his friable adventures of the animal groom, he continued west towards Salakos, near Mount Profistis Ilias. He went every day for that route, but one day he twisted his ankle, being able to continue walking with his fingers. His heel was similar to that of Achilles, therefore he feared he would not be able to return home from Molokos, the Nymph was trying to get out of the spring, trying to be able to bear his capricious load on the underside of his ribs, but the cobblestones made him overly tired. way, therefore he had to drink fresh water near the spring. When Achilles suddenly appears saying: “I wounded King Telephus. The wounds did not heal, and Telephus asked for an oracle, which said "he who hurt will heal. From this same stones full of twisted earth I will do the same with you, Micah ”. He missed the donkey when he saw that his wounds were adorned in pale blue, letting his foot mold into the curvatures of the floor, contracting Mikeas's tendon. After Achilles vanished near the mute donkey, he saw how orchids in the shape of bees came out, thus being branches that moved horizontally from the horn of a fawn Lady Platonis, who was holding on to the humid forest to affirm Mikeas of the stirrup of Achilles, indicating with his right horn that he could go back home, to Profitis Ilias "

Greek-Orthodox parable: “in the sacramental, Jesus and his Apostles, continued with their faithful apostolic icons in Salakos, from the same source of the roar of the source of the Lion and the Nymph, each claiming to be the separate component divided into its half exact of those who moan of Catholicism, when one more apostolate extended further from the Mediterranean of Christian primitivism on the side of the Lion and Rabbinic Judaism, in the conciliation of the Mashiach, and their Abrahamic legacy even being separated from each other, Mikeas he joined again after the birth of his scab, re-emerged from his ribs, such as that of Jesus on the binominal shoulder of Golgotha ​​and Gethsemane, as a Templar after the temple of King Solomon was destroyed. The Lion stretched out his leg and the Nymph received in her hands the reality of conciliation, under a species unification that will contain dominance near the springs that will act as a nativity between Rhodes and Patmos, transforming the viaducts into anti-heresy or heresiology from the same binominal spring, for all the priests who never understood that it was the Division of the World into two unknown parts, if only a donkey-like Mikeas would unite them so easily.

(Procoro takes a similar image of Vas Auric and reflected it with the twilight sun on the plans of the temple of Omega that are going to be built, reflecting his heraldic prose image in that of the Lion and the Nymph being fed by the Good Dew adventure in the landscapes that continued to be traveled by the remaining parts of Mikeas)