Caught on the moonstruck,

bypassing a train journey, going away

looking for home, in the sand threshold—

everyone’s looking season after season,

yes, he’s coming home: a foreign word

contemplating the weight, with summer

breeze, fanning strange faces, nobody

talks, nobody looks there for another

anticipated (in)sanity, he sees the whistle

blow, remarking the journey of destination,

Shouting voices, “Get off! Sit back, change your seat,”

all together coming in sweat drop of waters—

another day, another shot, levels update

the ineducable places, he left every

tree passing out there, barriers rising,

driving his every ounces, is he leaving

now? leaving to make another space,

the darkness rises from eastern valley,

it’s not hot anymore, cold clip bite in the lips

making white, the trackless world lost time

again, a mother rushing her daughter to

sleep, barely controlling the tipping drops—

the wind, giving buffet of hunger, perhaps

the tangible earth isn’t grieving, neither

malice,

pushing,

burdened,

with each dream.

He remembers the root,

where the dots connect.

— 19th March, 2024.