Death Is Waking Up In A Train

I often imagine death as waking up in a train.
You wake up in a white, silverish train with silver metal seats carefully arranged in the sides like an array so that they face each other.
The floor is greyish and after each coach is a small plastic tube of the same colour connecting the coaches.
You wake up and find yourselves sitting at the foremost seat of the foremost coach. The train is moving very fast and everything is shaking. There is no sound at all, except  a pleasant song from your childhood. It’s like you are wearing earphones. You glance out of the window and see familiar places passing you by, in a beautiful sunny background which is reminiscent of a pleasant weather.
You stand up and look around. The seats are almost full. Each and every person you had ever met in your life is occupyng a seat. You take a stroll towards the last coach, passing through the junction tubes, holding silver poles to compensate the shaking.
You see your mother, your father, your lover, everyone. But, they don’t recognise you. They just look at you, stare at you suspiciously, as if you are a stranger who stole something valuable from them.
And, for some reason, you cannot talk to them. You cannot open your mouth, you cannot think of speaking. The only thought that is running through your mind is that you know these people and that at some point of time, they must have known you too. And, that is all you can think of.
You continue to walk and soon reach the last coach. The shaking starts to get milder, and milder, till it stops altogether. There are no familiar places outside the window anymore, and nothing is moving either. You just see a white platform. Slowly and sluggishly, the doors slide open and just, as they do, you notice that there is no music playing anymore. There is no sound at all, in fact.
You look inside the train, everywhere. Everyone is still just sitting. No one lifts his head, no one bats her eye. No one steps to get off, except of course yourself. It’s time.
You slowly walk outside. The train doors close behind, dramatically. The platform is like any other platform, only cleaner and whiter. There are a few people around. There is a weather around, but nothing other than the whiteness of the platform is noticeable. It is like a dream.
As you look behind, you see the train going away, carrying everyone you had ever known. But, you are not sad. Both they and you have let go.
You turn back around to face the platform, and just as you do, the music starts again. You take a step forward, slowly and gently picking up your right leg and putting it down a little in front of the left one. And, just as your sole (soul) touches the ground, everything except the music fades into white nothingness- oblivion.

NaPoWriMo Day 26: All I know

I know the birds will never stop chirping
And, the breeze will always go on dancing
Like it did when I was with you
For all I know, this much is true.

I know that sapling is now a tree
I know that you are thinking of me
As a reflection of sky in oceans blue
For all I know, this much is true.

I know you never forgave yourself
And, I still have your ring on my shelf
The one, which you that day threw
For all I know, this much is true.

I know how I felt when we walked in rains
I still miss it, I walk the same lanes
And, once in a while, you must do too
For all I know, this much is true.

I know you cannot be there for me
I know, though, that you want to be
Together through the pains of life
For all I know, this will suffice.

NaPoWriMo Day 24:Life Goes On

This poem is based on the following prompt:

Our prompt today (optional, as always), will hopefully provide you with a bit of Friday fun. Today, I challenge you to write a parody or satire based on a famous poem. It can be long or short, rhymed or not. But take a favorite (or unfavorite) poem of the past, and see if you can’t re-write it on humorous, mocking, or sharp-witted lines. You can use your poem to make fun of the original (in the vein of a parody), or turn the form and manner of the original into a vehicle for making points about something else (more of a satire – though the dividing lines get rather confused and thin at times).

“Life goes on”
He used to say it.
Despite everything, it goes on.
He used to shout it.
But, does it really?
You’re 28
And, you have no job
Your lover promised you love,
And, since is gone.
You have no friends,
And, your efforts are vain
You are alive,
But, living is pain.
But, sure,
Life goes no.
Is it life?

NaPoWriMo Day 15: The Pendulum

There is a brief moment of rest
Before the pendulum comes to zest
Where it prepares for another fall
A terrific east or terrible west.

And that is a blind, horrid moment
Not knowing your own opponent
Left or right, future or past
A peaceful quit or violent enrollment

This is where we find ourselves
Hung in a sad, faithless blend
At one of the top corners in silence
Waiting for the wait to end.

NaPowRiMo Day 9: Chaos

This poem is a response to the optional prompt given for NaPoWriMo Day 9. The idea was to write a visual poem. I have written a “calligram”

Morning

                     Sunday

Another day
Of Co-existence

I wake up

                                    I see my calender

                      And the same things appear

Same things as last time

                                                                And, same rut

                            As last time

Same

Same

                    Same

Yet Beautiful
Fascinating

Brutal
Yet Beautiful

              Yet Fascinating

What was fascinating?

                   That I was presented

                          With

Sasdnasjdffjehr

Chaos

A chaos

That was organised

                        That was programmed
To appear everyday

Monotony in Chaos

                         How could it be?

How could there be

A series

                                                                                         Of disorder and confusion

                            A series

                                                But, there it was

In front of me

Same disorder

                                      Same confusion

As everyday

Bound together

                                                                                                                       In a chaotic stillness

Episode II: Day

“What happened to him?”
“Well, he took a bold step.
He woke up. He destroyed the dreamy world he was living in to wake up to reality, hoping that perhaps the regret would pass. And, then, reality struck him. He confirmed what he already knew. He confirmed that reality wasn’t good. It was cruel. Brutal. Callous.
That’s is his story. The reality struck him.”

Jack, The Athlete: DP Challenge

This post is for DP Challenge (Fifty) of writing a story in 50 words. My exact 50 word story ( photo by Wallpapers’ Craft) is a take on today’s stressful and fast paced lifestyle. Here it goes:

Jack was a natural athlete,
He ran all his life.
But, he wasn’t happy at all.
Despite of prizes and heights.

One day it all changed.

One day little Jack died,
And so, no longer he raced.
But, he was happy now,
For, he was off to a tranquil place.