a winding track laid on the back of
minutes and seconds of hourglass sand ,
crisscrossed upon at regular intervals
by logs of events that carry the
train starting from birth to death

puffs of steam tinging the forests in far
a taste more a shade of sooty clouds,
the faint murmur on the steely tracks
of life humming back to tremors as
people wait their chance to board
the train , loads of stations , so many
signals raised as flags wave a safe passage -
upper berth for some folks diligently
lost within a sea of pages confined ,
the middlingtons slumbering in
blankets to the silent rhythm of midnight rush past the vacant fields ,
the lower berthians a lucky lot
no rungs to climb and yet a window
to their own self summing up
all the changes the train race through

passengers in family with loaded trolleys
those teenagers with just a backpack to flaunt
what a mix of people around
your life bumbles through stations
night after night , day after day

only a handful remain the same everyday
cause they have become your tea makers
or your dealer in snacks
(food binding you since centuries unknown)
these hawkers they keep you company
with their ever changing voices
lean and energetic like the young paper boy
or hoarse and gruff like the
moustachio Pete selling you cheap commodities ,
what a journey they keep with you
in all seasons trusting you to feed
their impoverished families

where will you find the daily passenger
garbed in simple everyday clothes
where will you find the same driver
leading you through the tunnels to light
only a handful will you get to share
your popcorns with , cause most
come to tour in weathers fair .

A.N. :

This poem is inspired from Saramitra's poem True friends .

Don't forget to send her a kind comment .

Loads of love for you people.