Journey's end

Suspended in time, beneath the canopy high

I lie on my bed, and gaze at the sky

The wheels beat a tattoo – they spell out a rhyme

The train moves past wild grass and thyme.

Trees and grass, rocks and stone

Here there are leaves, there: there are bones

The telegraph poles rise up and down

They follow the contours and flow of the ground

A fence and a barrier that marks off a road

A tiny little stream where squints an old toad

The oxen in the fields sedately walking by

The dog’s long howl, the bird’s wailing cry

Now a bridge comes – the train clangs past

The people peer out – first bogey to last

The train slows down – it’s not the journey’s end

It’s just a little station, at the next bend.

The porters, hawkers and passengers scream

I lie down again, and settle down to dream

Amid the loud babble, a shrill whistle sounds

Somewhere in the distance, is the yapping of some hounds

The train slowly starts and then picks up speed

It carries all people of various caste and creed

I travel in the train, for I love to roam

But I have always found there’s no place like home

The journey’s end comes, my heart beats fast

The memories of the journey slowly file past

I sigh, yet I smile for though I feel sad

Believe it or not – every journey’s end is glad