This creepy cold.
Six long hours of wait and sit,
In the now and then
crowded
Platform, cold as shreds
of
Creepiness that might
capture you.
You watch the red liveried coolies
Who load on their heads, to unload
their burden of family sustenance.
Why not trolleys instead of
coolies?
If we can’t erase the word ‘coolie’
In the dictionary of our life,
there is no end of strife.
What is the use of our Independence?
our free education?
Their looks don’t bend down
On the narrow steps, their eyes
Positioned straight. What cold
Bugs them? Rubs the hardened,
Seasoned skin that lifts those
Luggage/baggage?
By my side, another child,
Herself a small
child of hardly
Seven, holding another ,hanging bony,
itches,Criss cross each other.
I am saddened ,when will India
Improve? On to the train,
‘mind the gap’ ,yet another nightmare,
I go on in the tilt.
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