POETRY:
“IT BEGINS THE MOST; WHEN IT HAS FINALLY ENDED...”
"I travelled far to reach nowhere,
Closer to me, with every step and sign.
Running from the views, running from myself,
Wishing I could turn back time.
But you're too far now, and I'm out of line.
Too late to catch the morning sunshine.
Maybe this fear is where it ends,
Maybe something beautiful is yet to be defined."
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All Rights Reserved. Original work. Do not copy.
> *Copyright Notice:* This poem is original work of The Last Station (laststation.in). Unauthorized copying, reproduction or use on other websites / social media without written permission is strictly prohibited*<
TRUST ME..
Trust me, I’ve seen the sky crying,
The sky closing eyes, shielding its light, showing darkness at times what we call night, but both day and night are equally beautiful, colours of that same sky.
Trust me, I’ve seen the ocean trying
To reach the shore, to sink into stillness,
And it loses every time.
It ends up chasing, trying to enter through doors that seem open!
Call it illusion or innocence,
In the end, the hope and heart are broken.
Does it mean the roars of the ocean were not loud?
Does it mean the love it poured to touch the feet was not profound?
The ocean is not weak for trying.
Cooling the warm sand beneath everytime,
It only learnt to love; that is name of sacrifice.
Trust me, I’ve seen days empty, still beautiful,
The ocean restless, yet deep.
The sun burning, yet sparkling,
The moon lifeless, as ever a pearl in seep.
The trees still, yet strong,
The roads silent, yet clear with direction,
The rain dropping — feels heavy, still light,
My shadow dark, but always my own reflection by side.
Trust me, everything is made to be loved.
_If things and people we cherish are the reason
Who awakens emotions, who stir heart’s fire,
Then let it burn for them — all that we desire.
For emotions are born to be spent, not to be borne;
By those who are already so in love.
__ 2026 The Last Station | laststation.in
All Rights Reserved. Original work. Do not copy.
> *Copyright Notice:* This poem is original work of The Last Station (laststation.in). Unauthorized copying, reproduction or use on other websites / social media without written permission is strictly prohibited*<
LIFE WITHOUT ME…
I’m living life as a stranger, sometimes feel like this is not the script that was fated,
Also not the present that I created,
Not the future I am preparing for,
I don’t recognise my name or my reflection in the mirror, anymore.
Still years later it pours down, hitting me hard,
screening shifts like you are years ahead but still stuck there.
The plot changes, tragedies added,
a foreign character disguised as me out of nowhere.
It repeats my dialogues, speaks my lines,
but when I go closer to touch it, it disappears everytime.
a ghost of me, ghosting me.
Life script feeling dreamy, yet taking away all my dreams.
My feelings are all stressed, my life at the moment a complete mess,
I don’t know how to exactly redress.
I can make no move until I know me or what I want to now be,
Try understand the situation going around while the world feels whispery.
After intermission, whenever I felt this was to end,
But scene playing like someone survived a great injury, yet lost the senses to live and think, lost all the old memories.
But they are flashing to me, showing up in a way,
Now I discover what it was all this time, and ask myself again,
Everything is bound to change, but why did you change?
Life still continues, writing on without me, watching it go is insane.
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