The Way Passengers Do
This summer
A dark pool of water will scintillate in your eyelashes
Like memory of starlit skies, cloudless nights
That you have spent in detecting constellations
The way passengers stare at a wall-clock
And do not know which train to take.
This summer
Few beads of sweat will roll down your forehead
Like remnant of religious lovemaking, ancient kiss
That I have left behind in last times of youth
The way passengers forget to pick a canteen
And do not realize till they are thirsty.
This summer
Few letters will be carved out in your soles
Like ruins of secret whispers, sacred promises,
That we have made to each other in earnest
The way passengers mumble in a coach
And do not hear what the other said.
This summer
We’ll be two passengers on same train
In heat, in hurry, in love
And when summer ends
We’ll grow cold, get down, fall apart
And reach somewhere else.
And we’ll always reach somewhere else.
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