Rustic scenes from a rustic town. My mode of travel for weeks to come! The ring of the bell, the groaning wheels, The creaky brakes and jumpy seat, The lapping waves on the sand, The salty sea breeze, combine In an orchestra churning a rustic rhapsody.
Athisiyam!", says a tired voice Breaking the morbid silence Of the sleepy small town rail station. A lone figure, in an old, dirty Perhaps hand-me-down sweater, Moves slowly down the platform. Shattering the immobility Of the queer, unmoving station. His movement reflects burden Of mind and of body. His grey hair and shrill voice fading, [...]