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I felt as lonely then as I do now,
As I have felt for years. The comfort is hard to forget,
A warm morning bed ripe with perfectly grown crevasses and ripples.
Why do I think sadness will take me home?
Sadness, though full of memories and longing will not take me to those old places.
Sadness is not a train to my home station, to the platform where my journey began.
Sadness is the whistle, reminding me where I am,
Reminding me what this journey is, and that I have chosen it.
A warm morning bed ripe with perfectly grown crevasses and ripples,
A carriage of a greater machine,
Unable to stop though the cord has been pulled.
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Love the idea of this poem, how you describe the thought processes of sadness...reminds me of a quote from Nabokov's Pnin that I read last night, "Is sorrow not, one asks, the only thing in the world people really possess?" Distorted or not, it's an interesting idea to consider waking up with in the morning...oh Indu! :)
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