He walked out, waited for a train
to Tomorrow with burden of years
bagged on his back, eyes focused on new pastures.
Her scoffs and sneers, spurns and snubs were whips
wielding welts to weep and hurt to hiding.
He ploughed fields of barren land
but where was the profit for yields harvested?
Efforts exerted to harness loads
I grasped in part but missed the whole
and struggled to correlate this theorem.
With the runnel of years etched on his face
He looked for an express to sprint out
of Today to a station where his cross is
not scorned and stops not mocked.
But no such ‘Pullman' blew a whistle
no schedule laid a track to escape
save love's flame scorching his fervour,
burning bridges, holding him prisoner
to the squeal of cat-o-nine tails
engraving feline epitaphs on grey cells.