It is 6. oo clock. The city barely sleeps.
The coy sun, behind the clouds
Lazily stretches out orange rays.
Morning autumn wind lashes my face,
The train briskly hurries to the destination.
The celestial sky above
With almost white dappled clouds
Look down while I gaze up.
The moon descends with ascending light.
One dies while other is born.
The train keeps moving.
Dwelling in high nature over
I dream in ecstasy of life.
Escape and desire lures my heart.
My gaze descends upon the road i travel
Filled with filth and dirt.
The horizon that lies,
Divides the earth and heaven,
Now in beauty and ugly
Is the real and surreal,
The man and the nature.
The train keeps moving.
I account the lesser greens
And more of browns and grays,
The metal sheets rest against the walls,
The light flowery cloth
Waves in and out of door frame.
The sound of machine mutes
The early morning crowing and piping of birds.
The hoarding grows instead of trees,
The gutters lie open, emitting
The smell of the ugly truth.
The train never halts.
Then i see several naked bottoms
Squatting along the railway tracks
Excreting the hard labor
In which they harnessed
The life of misery and poverty.
On the platform i see,
While a man sleepily sweeps,
The dog rests on the bench,
The drunk dead man on the floor,
Whereas, the lunatic speaks without an audience.
The train never halts.
