You'll never know
What this transit
Is to me; means to me.
The crowd
That drives me to paranoia.
The towns I consider non-entities.
The cramped space of Thane.
The sleep after that.
The stench of Sion
That
Wakes me up
From my nap in the train.
The spit-stains at Kurla.
The rush at Dadar.
The vastness of V.T.
The beggar
Whom I see daily,
But towards whom I have
developed apathy.
The claustrophobia through the subway.
The smoke emanating
From the yellow-and-blacks
That cough toxins.
The nagging roadside notary lawyers.
The shade near Cama.
 |
| The pavement adjoining Cama Hospital |
And
My transit
Meets its end.
And each day,
As much as I try
To abhor this journey
Of mine,
This period of
My mind's transit,
Becomes an irreplaceable
Part of me.
For a while,
Becomes me.
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