trains

Amma used to tell me that

when I was six I would

stand pressed against the

the netted door of our

balcony and look at the

trains that passed by,

my eyes so lost in the 

movement that she would

call my name a hundred 

times before I tore my

gaze and finally looked away

I feel like that sometimes now,

when something in the air changes,

like in the moments when I feel a friend

slip away or when love turns to lust and 

then rots away

It captures me, fascinates me

and maybe that is why

when I finally leave my place of reminiscence,

and slip back into the

the present, reality becomes

a stranger I must meet 

all over again

“Who are you?”

“Hello, it’s nice to see you”

So, when my mother would

find no patience in her tired heart

to call out my name

she would come shake me by the shoulders

and whisper into my ear

that I must look at her and 

it was time now to go to bed.

When it all comes back to me,

I wonder if my mother’s whispers

follow me around and when

it gets too much to take,

the reason I find solace in slumber

is the thought of her arms 

holding me in an embrace

that warms me up and breaks down

the ice that is slowly

growing inside of me,

trying to fill the void,

almost consuming

who I used to be.

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