An ode to the unseen man

He is the lion one never sees on the Indian emblem
He is the cut off arm of darth vader
He is the son of son of Godzilla
He is the Schrödinger’s cat
He is the unheard a in Armstrong’s famous line
He is caterpillar inside the cocoon
He is the unwanted appendix
He is the third twin
He is the fourth of The Trinity
He is the proverbial tree in the forest
He is the invisible dead man
He wasn’t born, he didn’t live
He wasn’t seen, he wasn’t heard
But he was always there
Just beyond the corner of your eyes.

City Lights from a Passing Train

I saw the pretty city lights
From the window of a passing train
They twinkled like little yellow stars
Against the inky violet backdrop of the night
They flashed for an instant
and then went their own way
Or is it I who have passed?
Away from the warm city lights
Yes. I am thankful for these messengers
These lighthouses for nightly trains
They show how fast I progress
Towards my final destination
The soft and distant glow
of the numerous city lights
is mirrored in my heart and eyes
if only for an instant
Sometimes lonely lamps cross my way
Shining alone across the horizon
Then suddenly hidden by black trees
Or fading away in the night's shadows
Any city I pass I do not see
the people, the hearts or the colours
But I know them by their city lights
Whether many or few or far apart
White or yellow, cold or warm
Tall, short, near or abroad
But the city lights are the brightest
just before the train rests finally
and I move to meet them
these stationary timekeepers of our modern lives.

Red beacon

A beacon to travelers from afar
It stands still on the table top
A drop of red in between the green trees
It beckons from a distance away
Lifting the spirits of the tired and depressed
Promising of better things to come
In itself, it is not complete
For ketchup is always on the side
Nor is it the reason to arrive
At the canteen nearby the labs
Not even is it hot or steaming
Like tea or coffee or a grilled sandwich
But in between concrete, tables and shady sunlight
The cool trees and the thick undergrowth
This red red bottle of sauce
Though, made of tomatoes it is not
is capable of warming the coldest heart
And lighting the most downcast eyes
For hope it gives of happiness in future
And hope can sustain while happiness does not.