Inherent Juncture

I wake up somber

And rub my eyes.

I was at a place

Where strange birds

Call my name.

 

Poem is my station

And a train stops

Every few hours

With ambiguous mails

Delivering junctures.

 

Inherent junctures

Where I have to choose

The nook I want to go

And fight fierce battles

With Mr. If.

 

Too short of dreams,

I keep my eyes open

For a glimpse of

Faded motifs

And still life conundrums.

 

Thus days like leaves

Fall by and dry;

I somber still,

Take my magnifying glasses

And inspect life.