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.....
6 comments:
Ah...Nomad, the poet, the traveller, the rail-fan...
:)
It's simple and beautiful. Great writing.
Cool! Ditto 0 :)
Ah.. why do we all love the train so?
Beautiful!
Kulhars of Chai at Itarsi..wonder what to dread about it unless u had some bad experiences :-)
Nice poem...
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..
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