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| On The Tracks Through the corridors of electric lines That feed the suburban trains the power to chug along I walk along in solitude and desolation Even as clusters of formless crowd walk past. Under the blazing sun, steel rails blind my eyes Scorching heat puts me to drenching sweat I know not where my body finds distinction from my clothes As my socks give out nauseating foul smell. I have no count of the trains ran past by my sides Nor do I know if they were Locals or Expresses All I know is that they had protruding crowd on the doorways Hung onto the water filter, overhead handles and poles. Around me builds up thick moisterous air Laden with dust, smoke and stench of faeces The air is still, the sun is still, just as the rails are Those not still are the Locals and the urchins playing around. Then behind me I heard a loud honk of a Local And sudden came tumbling before me a mangled body It was only that of a hapless man among the countless Who made perilous crossings on Mumbai's railway lines. (The impression the Mumbai suburban railway left on me in my initial days in Mumbai) |
| Hi, you will find my poems on these pages. Have a look! |
| A reflection on a common sight in Mumbai's streets |
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