100 poems/52 weeks challenge’ 2018
The blue collared trolley car stands
in a premonition
of people leaving their villages
with brightly colored pink-capped babies
marked with the kohl in the eyes–
premonition of the old mining cities
and now the Delhi soot.
Have you ever noticed how the
stands with a finality
above the faces peering from the window
at the leaving.
The inside corridor
lolls out from a newspaper tongue,
caught in an anxiety
as if the sleeping coach,
had people sleeping like hostel students
before an exam
and then the warden prolapses the morning
comes with a cutting tea
for travelers nestled in their own paper cups.
And they rise like some early hatch-lings
in the creaking hour
when there is neither happiness nor sadness,
And you see the repressed terror/thrill inside the men,
as they leave behind the old world and enter the new.