Saturday, September 06, 2008

The train

The world flashes by from the window of my train
Through summer, through winter and the heaviest rain

I see fields, I see farmers
I see bridges, I see rivers

I see stations, I see people
I see temples & church steeples

Children wave and cows scamper
Wives walk down with hubby's lunch hamper

Through tunnels & gradients
Dancing belles & mendicants

Kulhars of Chai with omlette bread
It's the lunch at Itarsi that I dread

On the door with a cigarette in hand
Next to a sticker that says smoking is banned

Cricket and politics discussed no end
Tulsi is the best, the women contend

Oblivious to this, the train rumbles on
Station after station, keeps going on.....


Sidhusaaheb said...

Ah...Nomad, the poet, the traveller, the rail-fan...


Anonymous said...

It's simple and beautiful. Great writing.

Vrij said...

Cool! Ditto 0 :)

Sriram said...

Ah.. why do we all love the train so?

Anonymous said...

Kulhars of Chai at Itarsi..wonder what to dread about it unless u had some bad experiences :-)

Nice poem...

nomad said...

Thanks guys :)

*heurisko - it's not the chai, but the lunch they used to serve from itarsi base kitchen that i dreaded. things those have improved i hear..