The Crowded Train

 The Crowded Train


It was a crowded train on which I rode,

An evening tide when the city slowed.

The hum of wheels on the iron track,

And weary souls all yearning to go back.


Faces pressed close, breaths intertwined,

Stories untold in the silence confined.

Hands clung to straps, feet shuffled in place,

Each carriage a world, each person a face.


The air was thick with the scent of the day,

Sweat and toil in a dance of disarray.

Suits and saris, uniforms and jeans,

The tapestry of life in its many scenes.


The vendor’s voice cut through the drone,

Selling his wares in a rhythmic tone.

“Chai, samosas, peanuts so fine!”

Echoing through the swaying line.


A child’s laughter pierced the air,

A moment of joy, unburdened by care.

While an elder leaned with a heavy sigh,

His gaze fixed far, on a distant sky.


The setting sun painted the sky in gold,

Outside the window, stories untold.

Fields and factories blurred in a haze,

As twilight whispered the end of the day's phase.


A student, bent with the weight of books,

Dreamed of futures in hopeful looks.

A laborer dozed, his tools by his side,

Marking a day of toil and pride.


A woman cradled her sleeping child,

Her gaze serene, her heart beguiled.

A couple whispered in the dimming light,

Their bond unspoken yet glowing bright.


The train’s rhythm, a song of its own,

A ceaseless chant of steel and stone.

Through tunnels dark and bridges high,

A relentless march beneath the sky.


Though space was tight and air was thin,

A camaraderie grew within.

Strangers smiled, a nod, a glance,

In this shared journey, a fleeting chance.


As the train neared its final stop,

One by one, the passengers dropped.

Each soul dispersed to its destined home,

Leaving behind the echo of their roam.


The train, now lighter, carried on,

Through the night until the dawn.

Its crowded carriages told no tales,

But held the weight of countless trails.


It was a crowded train in which I was traveling,

An evening time, with emotions unraveling.

Each journey an ode to human ties,

A fleeting glimpse of life that never dies.


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