It is the Brahma Muhuratam,
My open portmanteau has no baggage,
As it rests on a bench
of the special platform,
A platform that merges
with the tracks:
And the tracks lead to the Light,
Lead to my Pitru Purush.
No springboard needed
to jump off to the Light.
A tilted lantern tries to hold
a candle to the Light,
But remains unlit, or is blinded,
And a crow waits for its feed
For Pitru Paksh is near,
As is the autumnal equinox.
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