Worldly scenes pass me by,
Gazing outside this window high,
Perched upon my seat,
Nature paints upon its own sheet,
I watch the open roads,
I watch the crimson sky,
This canvas of beauty before me,
Hidden like a new bride shy,
Frozen in a vast frame,
Each day I pass this by,
Like players in a rustic game.
Momentarily paused am I,
At a solitary and lonesome stop,
Akin to each day’s routine,
I stare at my frozen clock.
Stopping here just like each day,
A few seconds and then its gone.
I ponder for reasons unknown,
I think about my life and wonder,
Is it akin to this journey unknown,
Or like this very stop.
The game of life that we keep playing,
Continues to escort me along,
Scenes and populace pass me by,
Like an untamed weather storm.
Unaware was I of a basic fact,
The rules of a wanderer unknown,
Denied am I the simple comfort,
Of wanting things for my own.
Like every traveler before and after,
Like every player in this game,
Like every nameless vagrant train,
I was not allowed to love,
I was not allowed to stay,
At a desired Stop of longing,
If I were to choose to want it,
If I were to choose to like it,
Oblivious of my own existence,
My job was to pass it by.
Existence is mirrored in all creation,
The holy books told me once,
Maybe I am this very stop,
And she a train traveling far.
She did stop for moments still,
She did rest in my arms,
But like all the ones before,
In an instant she was gone.
It hurts me now to realize,
Her journey has passed me by,
Like a chapter of an epic novel,
Read or skipped through this night.
Maybe she will not return,
Ever to this lonely stop waiting,
Maybe she will not reread the chapter,
Of her everlasting story,
She will not turn back,
In the middle of her journey.
And I, a lonesome station stop,
Can do nothing but weep,
My favorite train has passed me by,
And it may never return…