The return of the train

I was back on the tube
Homeway bound, happily;

Four years have passed by,
Stting by that rusty window;

They ’re the same passengers,
I grew up familiarizing with;

These are the interiors,
Fertiled by flowing rivers;

Most of them are dry today,
After the deluge of monsoons;

The fields though are green,
A long stretch of dancing carpet;

As always,

That feeling of lightness came,
The mind was a floating feather;

The train was bluish white,
And the sky a bluish black;

A couple were returning home,
And a lean, dusky girl travels alone.

As always,

I remember those days,
When I used to go home;

To see a young girl,
Bonded to me in love;

This was the noon train,
That took me home by night;

To be with her,
To hug and kiss;

To be in love,
To give myself;

Those were the early days,
When eternity visited often.

As always,

The same train came to a halt,
At one of those discreet stations;

The blind-beggars rhyme,
A group of bad boys sing along,

The tube has always been musical,
The terrain outside forever mystical.

As always,

It chugs past a cement factory,
Where people eke out for a living;

Littered ‘th lights in silhouette,
It moves past the right window;

The fields of fantasy fling past,
Flying comes a little winged bee;

Resting on my thigh for a while,
Before flying itself out of the tube;

Knowing not where to go next,
I watched it disappear into dark;


`life’s like that,
a flying journey’

`fleetingly fragile,
and full of fantasy’

`a dive into darkness,
dwelling on dreams’.


As always,

The tube tricks me to think,
Like the tracks that never meet;

Of the lives of those poor,
Living in hut-filled hamlets,

So deary to live with, yet
Unnoticed and uncared for.

Always,

Will I take the noon train,
To travel toward my home town.