Asthachal

The sun's rays 
flatter the clouds
into a bright blush pink
that yellows, as his radiance spreads
outwards, makes me giggle
as I stare, unabashedly.

The branches of the trees
creep, inch towards the skyline
reach towards the cosmos
lazy, but loving
like soup.

The people are quiet 
on the outside
while their toes wriggling
feet tapping, fingers snapping
knuckles cracking, brains racking
suggest otherwise
to me.

So i sit at the platform
an aimless wanderer
a poet
and listen to the news
on the thought speakers, intently
watching carefully
as their trains of thought 
rattle out to new destinations.

© Utsa Seth, 2019