A Short Journey by TrainA Poem by Subham Chatterjee
" A Short Journey by Train " © ACCENTUATION 2011
by Subham Chatterjee on Sunday, August 14, 2011 at 1:09am
***** A Short Journey by Train ******
© Subham Chatterjee
T'was but ten past nine, as I crossed that indolent dark lane ,
My mind was chary, fighting an ordeal to catch the last home-bound train,
As I reached the neon of the renovated railway station --
I was already battling the slow-moving travelers , nebulous in sessions.
With just minute and a five to hurry past
People who had made it early enough,
Schools of red,blue,white, same faces disappearing fast
People with apathy, souls making it more tough.
Even in that forgetful crowd of many a hundred,
There ran a couple, whimpering past people's shade --
Turning the very corner, storming past us,
With suitcases, a porter , words of detest trailing in the rush.
After ten long months, I had planned this weekend with my family,
So I being my nonchalant me, rushed to platform number nine hurriedly,
Past a child's crying wish, or past a beggar's upheld hand,
A mother's soft rebuke to her child's stepping on wet sand.
As I raced towards my escaping train , like the slowly setting sun
My feet ran one last time, like the day had just begun.
My mind bust planning , through blocks of cases , luggage paid ,
The running door of my train, my goal, within just a few moments ahead.
Like days in school , I caught the warm door latch
Rusted with touch, smile on my face -- awaited much ,
I caught a seat beside the window on the left,
That's when I heard shredded voice and bags unkempt.
I came up the aisle to help the standing figures,
That same couple who brushed past us with vigor,
The person perhaps handicapped with the struggle he fought,
The woman, wincing and shouting at him , as in existence we caught.
I turned up to help them organize as he endlessly barked,
Whilst she glared at a fellow passenger's polite remark.
All that could I make from their being together in that train,
Is perhaps, two unsettled troubled souls, scattered, restrained .
They sat opposite to me as I looked through this journey , time and space
Trying to bridge the moving us, as towards a circle strangers race,
Hallow shells of steel and wood conjoint end to end ,
Shadows of thoughts about the person sitting next- stranger or a friend !
As the couple made their strife heard once again
I knew any effort of mine wouldn't make it wane,
So I planned to stretch out and slack --
The far-fetched dim lights running apast the iron track.
Occupying the seats across the aisle from me, there and then
Were two little girls, sisters , perhaps one of nine, perhaps the other ten,
Very excited , very loud , with their exhaustive father looking out the window
The giggling, laughing , shrill chattering -- captured the mood of the adjacent row.
With every passing electric pole and the showering chasm of the whistle,
The couple went more perturbed , the noisy girls adding to the bustle ,
My fellow companions, that couple, were souls less delightful
With their patience running out, the woman ,
Caught one of the girl's arm and said, "Keep it down you fool!"
This annoyed me , lest to say
Cause I loved their uncurbed way,
I too was irritated by this man and woman's assay--
So cocooned myself, outside the window -- where my self-pity solemnly lay.
As the man and the woman let out the remorse, in lieu
The older girl with a sweet innocent voice said,
" Hey ma'am , what's the matter with you?"
The couple stood stunned, as if looking for bolster aside their strife
The man replied, " You're awfully too young to think you know so much about life!"
The couple satisfied, defeating the pride of this young lady, just then
Were coming back to discussing their forged spoiled togetherness in vain,
Just when the younger girl came back with her sister's pain --
"I guess we learned a lot of things like that when our mommy left us and went to heaven".
Both drifted to sleep , looking away from the quiet couple--
She had said enough, more than one mind , did they that day waggle.
Perhaps the heaviest of pain that afflicts comes not from the awe of strife,
But from one's disposition within, gnawing away at us , all our lives,
Perhaps the lovely faculty you can ever feel, comes not from words of great depth,
But from the easiest statements within,
Of things that remains humbly said.
: SUBHAM CHATTERJEE , August 2011.
© 2011 Subham Chatterjee
Shelved in 1 LibraryAdded on August 13, 2011
Last Updated on August 13, 2011
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