Goodbye is heard to say(just random one)

Today is a sad day for me and trying to delete the faded memories of you
Yellow walls fenced with brick red paint and paan stains,
Railway tracks stretching along with the sky, perhaps, to meet a scorned lover at the horizon.
Steam wheezing out of the freshly brewed tea that I want from the teapot
and those smoke rings from your cigarette look alike.
On the railway station, there’s a train standing still, lifeless yet so alive.
It’s 6 a.m. and commotion has a sacred touch to it,
because of the bells of a temple ringing nearby.
Our usual meeting spot near the unhinged door of a stinky public restroom chides me,
I feel a pang of strange heartache inside me.
This heartache is not mine, not yet, atleast,
It’s here and yet not here,
It’s an unwelcome guest that has come to stay,
for as long as this train stands here, on this very station,
like a corpse, numbness is a very sad emotion,
It’s the worst kind of heartache, I think.
And then, there comes a whistle, a siren,
People rush towards the train, filling her up, and,
Train is a she, I guess,
I am almost sure because
on most days, I have seen women carry all the world on their shoulders
while their own baggage keeps dragging them back to the place from where they started,
so, yes, that’s how I decided that train is a she,
also, she is probably lonely just like me.
Another announcement has been made,
Train is crooning a song of separation,
as if to call you for one last time on my behalf,
You don’t arrive, not today, a letter will,
at the end of this month,
when I will be sitting at my home,
in a corner, looking out from a window with wallflowers crawling up on it,
your memories have crept up on my whole,
I am not my own person, anymore,
I am somewhere lost amidst the blue sky and that tall banyan tree with such green leaves and thick roots,
like a small wooden bird trying to save its wings,
by burying them into the ground,
hiding them in the plain sight from the mankind.
I wonder if on doomsday
that banyan tree would finally fold its roots
and spread them like its wings and soar high,
away in the sky, on the final day,
I wish, that banyan tree would fly,
I wish for so many things and
you have yet not said your goodbye.
But I know, on the day when you will say it,
I will be trying to remember this very day, wrapped in my pajamas thinking of all the drama,
when you will sneak up on me, break your silence and drop your goodbye at me like an atomic bomb,
laced with some fancy english words, as if good english could cushion the blow of all the hurt,
and my illusion of peace and this ongoing story that I constantly want to be a part of–
the one that keeps my heart beating, will end,
when your letter will come bearing a goodbye that you owe me,
at the end of this month,
but not today.
Today, I have some places to go,
and a cup of tea to drink,
and a holy river of my tears to flood our city with, at brink.
Before this train leaves the station,
I feel like I need to cry,
I need to take a little walk over our city’s bland blue mundane day sky,
and maybe, unlike you,
I will meet this train midway, before the story ends,
at the horizon, to where the little birds fly.