Thursday, November 19, 2009

The Train, the Dream, the Post Script

Between my eyes and yours

and between every other thing

there’s a little known railway station

A few of my friends took a ride

on a train that stops occasionally

at that station….

There were a few other passengers –

One being an old lady who hummed

a sweet melody about flowers that wither

in heat…

One being a child who had

lost her mother during her birth

and had seen her father shoot himself

in the head after being convicted of some

crime she is too young to understand …

One being a Judge who had

stopped talking after sentencing

his own son to death for matricide….

Likewise, each passenger had

a story to tell, but not the words

Those friends – they wore similar clothes –

the very latest in fashion, and thought

similar thoughts, and had similar hopes

and dreams – those of staying in

similar square whitewashed houses,

doing similar jobs in front of similar computers,

watching similar television shows on similar

costly televisions, shitting similar types

of shit in similar pots and flushing

them down in a similar fashion, marrying similar

wax-doll-pretty wives who’d

resemble those similar mannequins that

adorn the entrances of similar garment shops

and so on….

I don’t know where the train was going

And the story ends before

it could begin

For the train never reached

where it was supposed to

Or maybe it wasn’t going anywhere –

Just chugging along – like you and me….

No one was waiting for them

No one waits….

No one has the time…..

The near and dear ones –

They cry for a while

And then they wipe their tears

off, and move along…

No one waits….

No one has the time…..

It’s just a few people who


It’s just a few trains that get


A few flowers are sent, a few letters,

a few telephone calls, a few condolence

messages, and a few lines in the morning

newspapers –

To be gulped down with the

morning coffee,

To be bitten, chewed and swallowed

down with bread and butter….

And then it’s time to get busy,

To secure the next day’s, the next

month’s, the next year’s coffee, bread

and butter.....

The days – too busy to wait

The nights – too tired not to sleep

And before falling asleep –

a few empty words, a few empty sighs

a few empty prayers, and a few empty

drops of tear –

They dry out pretty soon,

And nothing remains….

Nothing …

A few of my friends have died

in a train accident

That’s all

Post Script:

I had a sad and beautiful dream

In that dream I saw those friends

in the train

I heard their sunlit words of hope

I heard their laughter ringing out loud

I saw their words building nests

on the branches of those trees outside

that moved in the opposite direction

I saw their laughter spreading out

across the sky and stretching beyond

the horizons…..

I was with them in that dream

Yet somehow,

I had the dream,

but they were inside the dream

I have a feeling that they’ll stay

there – right inside the train and

right inside the dream – forever….

Captive, forever….

Free, forever…..


deepteshpoetry said...

Mystical indeed....haven't seen anything like this.Weird n fascinating imageries.....

I posted a new poem.Pls chk

Soumi said...

MritYu aar showk,duTo-i jey boro shawsta.