A briefcase and a lunch box
Walked along through the lane,
Last night I was at the station,
Hopelessly waiting for my train.
There were insecure thoughts
Frozen in my little brain,
As I sat there on the bench,
Watching the signal for the train.
Soon the sound echoed,
And was followed by rain,
I quickly gasped with wide eyes,
For it was time to board the train.
I picked up the luggage,
Towards the coach, the life’s bane,
Settled the briefcase and lunchbox,
Leaving for the terminal on the train.
I was suspended in rhythm,
Peeping fixedly out of the window pane,
Hunger drove me to the lunch box,
Smelling mother’s love while on the train.
I wish I could take her along,
A smile covered my flimsy pain,
I started eating her prepared lunch,
Missing her in each bite on the train.
Abruptly the rhythm ceased,
Somebody had pulled the chain,
There was a casualty,
A heart attack to an old man in the train.
Doctors called were late,
Old man breathed last with his cane,
Condolences were heard all over,
As his son took him out of the train.
The train picked pace,
But the incident gave me strain,
My father, who was on death-bed,
Emphasized to drop me to the train.
My eyes embraced sleep,
Suspended between the constraints,
Morning showed the destination,
I got down with luggage from the train.
Sound echoed, signal lit up,
I turned around to look for gain,
It curved towards the end with a cross,
Warning not to remember the train.
Picture Credit: Akash Singh