The Train Missed Me
Thirst so old, it becomes
the air I breathe.
Between a cup of
tea and valium,
I choose the latter,
relish the sweetness
of pill after pill
melting in the heat
of my mouth.
Hypnotic song of the
morphine in my veins.
And rain,
after many days
of no sunset, rain.
The drops vanish into
my barren fields, vapour
hisses from the cracks.
Rain lashes on the
window, sprays on my
bed, pillow, face, hair
and all I can smell
is the beginning
of the end.
Reaching the station
just as the last train leaves.
The Inmate
White of those walls,
witnessed many runaways
to the world beyond,
sucks the wind out of me.
I step into the 'All Our Goodbyes'
smile and cheer on their faces,
the way only the lonesome can.
So forlorn. So proud.
And the parchment touch of her
in the warmth of my youthful
supple hand. The gentle flutter.
I read quietly from Dr Zhivago.
The blare of the TV from the hall,
the chatter of her friends fade away
to give way to the stillness settling
within a summer's dusk.
Her silver her cascading
down her shoulders, white winter
ravages, then adorns the
cut beside her right eye.
In the moonlight
I step into my own shadow.
Chumki Sharma is a poet from Calcutta, India. Her poems have been published in many corners of the world. Most recently, her work has appeared in The Shot Glass Journal, Expound, Oddball, The Birds We Piled Loosely, etc. She is also a Pushcart nominee for the year 2016. Currently, she is working on her manuscript 'Running Away With The Garden' when not engaged in her day job as a banker. Find her on Facebook.
