Raindrops | Poetry

a portrait of a lonely station

I'm waiting at a station no train comes by. A lonely, rotting station. I wonder what I am doing here, when there are a hundred places I could be.

I don't know the answer just the way I don't know whether I should stop waiting or keep waiting. Some questions come with no answers. An orphaned child, a rootless weed, a man caught up in the borders.

This sadness doesn't end, you see. Like a circle, it finds me where it left me. A cycle of life and death goes on inside my body - I have known this feeling to heart.

People leave, but love stays. Of all the places in this cruel world, love chose to stay where people leave. O love, you remind me of lovers beaten barren, choosing their abusers and naming them love.

Memories are ghosts. Never there, yet always there. My head is full of shadows of us dancing and I just cannot stop the music my heart sings.

There's no end, no conclusion. We shall dwell in stations of our own, where no trains pass by. If we're lucky, we might find someone waiting with us.