Trains

I wish I could sit down and stare. I have no turmoil to resolve. But I know I've been, moving on, too hasty. Looking at every desolated hut at every mile-stone, promising myself... I'll return... It's like a switch turned on.. I start seeing, through the bars of a train coach...when I made that innocent promise...of coming back to that small temple of that unknown place, sheltered under a banyan tree, wondering who came so far away, to put those flowers there... I see, that wheat field..with that lady there, sheltering her tanned face with those tired dusty hands..her yellow saree, slightly fluttering in the breeze...wondering if the wind said something.. I see it all, buried desires...to tread that distant plateau...wondering if that vast monolith was a giant made to sleep... They make me jealous. Those bushes. They can't be older than me. Yet, There they are. Dotted in those fields.. Fields...drenched in sunshine.. Fields...where the wind plays free.. Fields...where the thunder roars..with its might..benevolence.. Fields young..Fields wise...Fields gay... And those huts there..patched with a nuisance of children...oblivious to life...reckless of life...I can almost see them rolling in the wind.. I want that dust. I want that lightening. I want those silent nights. I want that fear...that subjugation.... I want to stare..at a rain... I..I just want that lady in the yellow saree to be happy... I can tread hell in peace then.. I can't help it. I'm a patriot.