yesterday
while at the railway station
I noticed all the bags
and the strolleys
and all the clumsily wrapped parcels
the red and turbaned coolies
trodding along
with our collective baggage
it is romantic or tragic
to see poetry
at railway stations
and in piss poor folks
the darker the night
the brighter the moonlight
the dirty platforms
the lonely coaches
and the disgusting people
great material for another pseudo poem
about life’s greatest longings
I too am guilty
of some of them
writing shit poems
and gazing in the distance
while she walked away
without a goodbye.
A heathen poet 