Having departed from
The last station
Here I lie ensconced
In a sea of flowers
Soon to be turned to dust
That wooden bench
On the platform bears
Marks of memories
Entangled, unabated, punctured
Streams of smells and tastes
Struggles against a mélange
Of meanings and meaninglessness
Life seemed voluptuous
And inviting
As succulent breasts of
An unforgotten first love
But it turned out
As a maze
Of mirages
Continuous and abounding
Like intimacy of flesh
Conjoined with smells
And foibles
In a sea abounding with
Hatred and mutations
Meaninglessness and nothingness
Searching for meaning
And love
In nooks and crannies
Crevices and corners
Proved to be a futile expedition
But in true Sisyphean spirit
The search continues
Beyond the Last Station
