Monday, September 1, 2014

Commuting Lines

Over the tracks that
Walk everyday through
Miles and miles counted
In hours and minutes
Imbibing the perspiration
And smelly smoke
Of stale breaths
And hawker calls
Every day, every hour.

The men chat…
Of school and candles
Of fishes and scandals
Of banks and trunks
Of home and bunks
Of holidays and rape
Of chicken and grape
They chew on paan
And watch the snaan
Of women under taps.

The men cheer
And maliciously sneer
At youngsters who join
New jobs and point
Their fingers at faults
At desperate jolts
Made in fear
Made in hope
Made in attempts of
Mere survival.

Homes of cards
They build everyday
Losing and winning
Bids they make
Challenging in games
They never could play
To lose happily
To friends any day.

And friends they call,
Travellers, colleagues
And fresh youngsters
They consider weak
The new job band
The nurslings at hand
To tease and pluck
Like chickens they cluck
The men gossip
And talk talk talk.

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