Train window

[shortindiangirl]

A vain cloud scuttles down
To look at herself in the paddy fields
A farmers son waves
Taking a break from staring at red clay
Three pots stay fixed on a woman's head
While her arms swing free of her yellow saree.

The wind sings a full throated melody
Rows of rice dance in rhythm to the train
If emotions are validated
Only through being able to rationalize them
Then I am having none.
I cannot explain the joy I am full of.

- An India moment, probably in 2000.
I wish I could write like this again.