LEVEL-CROSSING
Miss
We were all stranded
at the level-crossing.
Scorching
heat beating down our backs.
Profuse
sweating forming icicles.
Extreme
suffocation down the spine.
Yet we are to cross
All eyes steadfastly
watching
for the curtain to be
lifted.
A gust
of cold breeze under my chin.
Freshness
sets aflame
those suffused desires.
To cross
And
then?
Shall I be Valentina, Sarojini Naidu
or air-hostess Sunita Mukherjee?
or all rolled into one?
Evening shadows spread
their silken wings.
So devouring,
so devastating
holding the day in its palms.
Then again the last glow
of the setting sun
behind those lop-sided maze of
trees
A mystic signal
to cross.