A Journey By Indian Train

My God, the night is dark, Where am I going, Whether o.k. or something wrong, Am I in the right train or not, Where will it take to, Where is it going to, My God? Will all the passengers alight From the local train In the mid-way stations, The daily commuters, I in suspense, On marking them alighting, Getting down? When the train left for, There had been many passengers And I for getting a seat, Sat in the train Without knowing the things, Going for a long distance, But as the night descending, People are alighting? All the passengers alighted they, Got down from And I left all alone With a few ragged men siting, Perhaps the pick-pockets As their activities otherwise, Taking the name of God, An escape, a save. The train rushing down Oblivious of the fears lurking in, But the security staff not, The bogies appearing manless And the light too burning dimly And I too marking all that Trying to befriend the awkward fellows As for safety. The halts lonely in between the stations, The masters closing the counters After the ticket sell, The lights too fainter, The vagabonds, drunks and abnormals Moving on Or without them. Even the platforms without good toilets, Full of pick-pockets, goons and thugs, No place to sit on And to rest, The crowds seem to be swapping, Changing places And waiting to enter in. The without tickets on the seats Sitting not, But sleeping and acquiring them, Unwilling to leave or get up And again trying to go up And to sit on the high bench And apart from people jostling And pushing in the bogey sometimes. Many in the morning wanting to push coal bags From the colliery region Behind the seats, Some wanting to place the vegetable bags Into the toilet side, Some knapsacks placed near the toilet gates And the toilets stinking. It seems that a hundred dead rats Stinking in the toilet, Giving out the stench, Smelling foul, Petrifying and rotting smell, Making to feel vomit With nothing to wash the hands. Indian trains and their situations Telling of the poor and over loads Of the trains Which keep chugging and whistling, Entering and exiting, Always overcrowded and in rush, The loads lessening it not. he trains packed with passengers Increasing, lessening i not, Telling of the crores of unmanageable people, Overbearing and reproducing, The overcrowded trains and hanging onto passengers Telling of the population explosion, No birth control, God the Almighty is giving And you fathering more, The mother turning into a skeleton.