Monday, August 17, 2009

Accustomed to the move

Like a horse's gallop
the wheels of the train
through time
tell me something.
The din now smells like music
and I hear the
throbbing rhythmic beat
as I would listen to a charming companion.
Like the untiring knight
it runs, day or night
and tells me- we are in the womb
of a mountain.
we are above a river,
we are approaching a place where we
can replenish ourselves.
When he is silent, he is a workman in his break-
smoking, eating his lunch.
When he starts- fury, zeal, the will to fly-
all drive this hand
that that strikes the void


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