Train story 1 (Kafka on wheels)

Train tracks

There is a train in Cantonment station so weary

of his rails, he levitates into the children’s park

seeking sand-soaked feet. But alas, the train

wakes up as a toy train with wheels and rails.

There is a train in Cantonment station trapped

on the sticky flypaper, he follows brooding

passengers into the bustling street. But alas,

the train wakes up as a tram with the soul of a

hawker’s bell. At the womb-like mountain tunnel,

the train aches to metamorphose into a caterpillar:

a fluffy fullness that masks movement with

meditation. Better, be the earth itself, the reverie

of movement that rises up as sun and moon. At

the spindly arched over bridge, the train offers

prayers to stooping forefathers to evolve into the

lazy depth that soaks the banks beneath. Better,

be a ripple dying on the girls faded jeans, with the

parting embrace of a dying grandparent. But alas,

the train wakes up a sea sewerage that carries

within, things it never asked for

 

By Aditya Shankar

 

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