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| Photo Credit : LeeLa |
CST Local at quarter past ten
At quarter past ten,
the tubelight starts flickering
somewhere between Scion and Dadar
There is unequivocal night silence,
except, the squeaky sound of train engine
All windows are up,
making space for monsoon winds
The man sitting beside me
plugs in his earphones,
silencing all the sounds,
including his voice
The day’s labour bleeds off faces
writhing in half sleep
As the train crosses by twinkling lights-
of bustling capital and buildings
The train halts at Dadar,
a swarm of people board into a silenced ride,
I deboard
Beautifully written! Loved the way you give words to your observations.
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