A train ride through India.

As the train pulls out of the stations
We look out onto India’s burnt dry landscape.
Arid like the Sahara, its mountains resemble the dunes.
This carcass crawls along the rusted tracks
And every imperfection is felt through the plastic seats
In every vertebrae of our backs.
I’m getting old, old like this country
Where wisdom is worshipped in painted elephants
On shrines made of gold.
My mind challenges me to question
What wisdom there is in the creature?
And why so many humble folk
Do not question its origins in God.
The train only has 3 carriages.
1st class 2nd and catering.
And I can smell the aromatic flavours
Exciting my nostrils carried on the hot air.
A lady in a magenta saree sits across from me
She looks radiant like the setting sun
The hem of her gown is embroided
With gold and purple stitch notes.
I look with intent at her and try to catch
Something of her history through her eyes,
I am unable to see the mystery
As her head is bowed like a bulrush
I sense there is more to her than I will ever know.
Just like this fascinating country
That weaves its spell into my subconscious mind
Unknown territory lies ahead.
And I know I will be educated.
I rest my head on the window.
And let the moment take me to a place of my own.
This journey is only the beginning
And my excitement turns to quiet reassurance
As my mind retreats to a place that I call home.