Poetry : The Window-Seat

Every time I sit in the window-seat of a train

I see my faint reflection on the windowpane.

It stares at me like I’ve committed a crime

Constantly reminds me that I don’t have much time.


And forces me to contemplate the meaning of life.

I ponder over the many reasons of, my being alive.

I realize that my flames are dying really fast

I don’t know for how long, these moments would last.


I run my curious eyes over the enormous horizon

and see everything moving in opposite direction.

It starts making sense to my puzzled mind

I think of all the things I am leaving behind.


I see the train tracks going in different directions

and think of the many paths, my life could have taken.

What’d it be like, If I had taken the other paths?

Would it have changed the number of my breaths?


I see the azure sky, streaks of clouds and tall trees

and feel on my cheeks, the sunshine, and breeze

I love seeing the forest, dressed in brown and green.

I don’t know why but it feels so calm and serene.


In the end, the train stops and I get up from my seat.

Now, I’m back to reality; I feel the cold or scorching heat.

But my mind keeps talking to me in bewildered soliloquies

these thoughts are carved in my mind, in there, somewhere deep.


This experience is a bliss as I get to know the real “me”.

The real “me” who is hiding inside this mortal body.

During this self-introspection, I forget all my worries and pain.

And it happens every-time, I sit in the window seat of a train.

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