The Midnight Train

I wake up.
My mouth feels dry.
It’s late. I’m in an empty train.
There are flashes of lightning outside —
Aftermath of a storm.
I see trees swaying —
The wind must still be strong.

My head is heavy. Exhausted.

I always find it so peaceful
To be on this late train.
No other passengers beside me.
It’s like, I own this Space
And this Time is mine!

The dull cityscape zoomed past outside.
I barely take notice.
I tilt my head back on the seat.
Gently close my eyes.
I can do with another nap.
No hurries.

The train coasted on tall pillars,
Making its way through
The concrete surroundings.

The city outside — now so dull.
Lifeless.
Though somehow not dead entirely. Not yet.
Its tall towers and grand arches
And neatly designed ghettos
Have so many stories in them —
Hidden —
That I no longer care for.

I wait for the time when the train
Will leave the city and enter the
Long tunnels that connect this line
To the world outside.

I was part of the history of that city.
Every scene. Every story. Every building.
Every road. Every memory. Every crossing.
I crafted them as I evolved.
I planned it all, so exquisitely!
I was the architect!

And now, this train is my only refuge
To visit this almost dead city.
I never get off the train now.
I just ride it.
Around me lie thousands of memories —
All the happiness, pain, heartache, sadness,
Crises, ecstasy, fantasy, trauma, madness —
That have now taken a dull grey look.

I look but I don’t see.
Here I hide them all.
Here shall they be.

I am the only one on this train,
Just as I always am,
The architect, leaving behind their
Hidden City, their once beloved streets,
No more muttering retreats,
All of which have now lost
Colour, Joy and Life,
On which the gory Repression feasts!

As the train reaches the tunnels
I take one last glimpse of the
Repressed landscape.
I will wake up soon and face
The world outside.