Train Tracks and Destiny

While I alone imbibe our wine

relaxed, reclined, defying the whine

of our star-crossed symphony:

As brittle limbs shatter

that were bent for years

to canopy a homey habitat

that evolved me, as

broken storm door,

in windy furiosity

like a flag unfurls,

My new dog crated under the stairs,

is afraid of the train that passes by my house

as once I foolishly made him stand still to watch.

He hasn’t accepted that the train is constrained,

unlike the storm, which drives where it will,

incomprehensible gale by gale

(I sometimes sense anachronistic insinuations

and wonder–whence all your prejudice?)

I want you to know where I dwell is not

the train, unstoppable, unapproachable,

and trapped in time,

though echos of my culture haunt the land.

Superstitions betray the influence of the great generation,

opinionated patriots with insistent icons.

When I curse you with urgent hell-fire certainty

I don’t mean to break you with Holy Ghost spell.

Your individual pride is inalienable here.

I think you revert to status or caste,

but I am your woman.

And if cultures translate I’d rate me a Brahman.

Destiny is happiness, in ruin’s seed

Harmony derived in storms we choose to breed.

Don’t look for a track for you and me.


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