A rumination in the platform

A rumination in the platform


A rumination in the platform
you sit your eyes closed in the busy platform
of the railway station viewing the busy humanity's
throb and bustle,dragging the children on the right,
along with the luggage,sometimes the pressure of
time bound programme is such,I cannot but wonder,
the luggaage and children as if baggage on equal platform,
nearby the weight machine is out of order,perhaps
somuch so, on the wornout stage,
so many sequential views on your mind stored as if
in a pen drive, automatic doors bar the passengers,
I recall the buses packed and half of the bus almost
on the ground touching,in India,amidst touching scenes,
a mendicant woman in rags on the road,near the signal
projecting her child with the uncouth calls,quick nod
from my memory if the gas cylinder is switched off,
if the greenleaves on the fry pan is overboiled to the black,
whether the windows have been closed:
the telephone bill is paid or to be cut,uncertain
queries like the failing monsoon throng me,
my train comes to take me unmindful of my situation.