A wiry girl, in a Cinderella frock, hopped onto the train
as it just left platform one; standing tentatively at the door,
ogling at the valley, I lent her a hand and pulled her to safety.
Two strangers met thus, not knowing if it was destiny,
accident or coincidence; the rail coach was half-empty,
dead silent and the vents blew in a smoothening chill.
We shared smiles and empty glances but not a word did we speak.
I dozed off, tired, and exhausted, diving into dreams (or nightmares!).
She too would have, I presume.
When I woke up, the train was hurtling along;
I peered in vain from the corner of my eye
for the anonymous girl, she was gone for good,
like footprints on beach sands erased by foaming wavelets.
I might not have another glance ever of the girl!
Was she the child never born to me?
The embryo strangled in its first ten weeks,
by chemical spray and flushed down like dead cockroach?
perhaps she was a virtual reminder of the child,
who was indeed born to me, in flesh and blood,
and walked out of my life as her wings strengthened
and her mind craved the unfettered freedom of anonymity!
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