Train journey

We have no balance left to read poems into the train’s deep night we made our own towards a hill God. So we go on in a brown pen note with calligraphy as on a forehead. Train would oblige not to tremble Like Nepal under a falling debris.

Our forehead obliges with Brahma’s script but it does not know its balance .Calligraphy is fine, not (in)scrutable .God in boulder smiles knowingly .We will check with Him up there.

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