Bangor to Euston
After Shakespeare’s
Welsh border
and Glendower, the portrayed
rebel,
via books
and pictures,
during my
college days.
Now almost a decade
ago, a turn,
a practical, a chance,
a trip
to UK., It was
a summer morn,
the Intercity
Express, from Bangor
to Euston, a seat
by window,
a lovely tour of purpose.
Driver’s double check if
All the
commuters were on board.
As the train
speeds past,
A feast or
delectable sight
The green
slope on either side,
Could feel
windy and frothy
The deep
watery with small ferry like.
I recollect, “
Bliss is in that dawn
To be alive”.
White
swans gather by
A faithful
,collective comradeship
In the
white sheets of water flow.
A deep
river in the midst,
How much of
poetic inspiration
It gives and impetus for
the
Disappointed lives. As
the waters
Flow with
a message, Life has to go on.
Dark sets in
slow reaching me to
Destination ,to Euston, lights
Illumined in the station, platform.
If Dark is there,
will the Lights
Shudder and Stay
behind?
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