Search for the remains

I wait for the train with draining eyes
The station spins before my thoughts
Busy men with their confident strides
Busy ladies with their priceless mirrors
For a final touch up before the train arrives.
I start a journey
Where to, i forgot
Maybe i just don’t care
The hippie crowd that raise the slogans
Has, but an aim to push them along
Me, sad pilgrim,
With a scholar’s outlook
And a golden chisel to paint my dreams
Sits in pity
Gazing at the trolleys
That knows their owner
And their order.

The uniformed official with his loyal baton
Marches along, in search of vandals.
Can he ever trace and find
The ties i left behind on my way here?
And the roots i burnt to cease all growth?
If he can, just rope it around
I can, maybe, drag it along
Never hug it to my bosom
As i used to before.

Porters heave their welcoming loads
Sweepers sweeps away their past’s traces
Menial labour and meagre wages
Can, of course, feed the belly
I with my wriggling notes
Search for a tip to force me forward.

I can hear the rumble in the distance
And smell the hungry coal in its heart
Hungry to devour dreams and distances
This pilgrim, alone in her progress
Not even hungry to sooth her dreams

Now she has learned to just dream her dreams
And dream it at night
Not at dawn to fulfill
I take my load
In search of greater loads.