Who Is This Train? Poem by Ayni Poet

The valley where the Codes of the Universe reside
Is split by webs of tracks,
A train, always in the hurry, slides on them,
At times with ease,
At times with fierce,
Believing its purpose is to be somewhere, on the move,
That there are golden, royal stations waiting,
That it compulsively needs to reach.

This train travels with the speed of thoughts
Converging, pulsing in a busy mind,
Just as a bullet oscillating in the electromagnetic field,
Caught up in a marathon of deeds,
Crossing a territory of exquisite jewelry and revealing charm,
Onboard an ephemeral body of steel.

Fueled by agitation, thrill of heights
Foolishly confronts the winds and heavy snow,
Inferring that those refine its powers and shape
Deluded in the magic of emulated choice.

It seldom cools off and even then, it blames the rain,
Wordly passions burn its heart to poison ashes
Unwilling to step outside the tracks for a while,
It got addicted to the taste of lies.

Remaining unconscious yet greatly alert
Breathing the thick fog of seasonal dust,
This train is drinking the wine of losses and gains,
Eating the fruits of Grace,
Bathing hectic in champagne called 'a good life',
As if it strives so hard to fulfill,
The Prophecies of Darkness.

The train is not a toy, a trap, a role
Why can't it see this?

There's a hand of ether dispersing in amnesiac steel.