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She runs ahead to cleave the shrouded night,
To carve the path the iron wheels must take.
Each motion bears a fragment of the light,
And breaks the dark for destiny's own sake.
She knows my mind though never heard my speech,
She reads the thoughts I dare not voice in air.
She moves with power soft, yet fierce to teach,
A star concealed, yet burning bright and rare.
Is she the guide that silence long foretold,
Or phantom born of rhythm's whispered song?
Her presence writes the script that none can hold,
Yet leads my steps where fated fires belong.
Through shadows vast, I follow, dazed and drawn,
Towards Mumbai's fire, and through the breaking dawn. |
