Time travels with us always

I remember how we met on the train
it was early of a Sunday morning.
There was fire, Earth and smoke
all sitting in one seat.
Echo also took the ride with us
while tears, pain and love sat in the next carriage.
We fell into a discussion about where we were headed,
speaking of puzzles, walls and pilgrims.
I can remember how I tasted water in that ride,
the moon gladly followed us through the window.
If we spoke of the sun, a shade covered our words.
A moment ago, our verbs were toddlers
and soon enough, our nouns grew into adults.
Throughout the siege of quietness
I wondered who was in the carriage before us.
It felt like someone followed us
I saw it in shadows that came after the first; second,
I saw it in the passing of the rays of the sun.
Somewhere I read that the chicken’s crow still hovers
in a name that sounds like that of a cricket.
That night while the train carried us
I remembered what it was called
Some say it by the name of its birth;
Lokaci, period, life
I know it by the name given by travelers
Yes! I remember how I learnt it’s name – Time
My father’s story bore it
Everything we know is what it entails
In its records and scrolls, in what we call past
future of the becoming.
This is it, this is the train traveling as time.

Ruddapoet