TRAIN NO. 42

– HAT YAI TO BANGKOK
Rattling of the disgruntled wheels.
Clinks of glasses and clanking trays.
A hiss from the kitchen and loud laughter
Crashing like waves on the greasy table tops, breaking
Before they reach us, lost in the din of our restaurant car.

A wizened face, his visage, wise with age.
Each wrinkle around his eyes a story;
The twinkle in his eyes, his favorite one.
About his love. For her, he had changed his religion.
Grown old together, had two children.
Β 
I look at the stranger across the table
Who will forever be a part of my face,
My lines, my stories. His story
Has found a place at the corner of my lips,
Curled up in a smile.