Boarding the wrong train.

Sitting down, facing front
I see squabbling kids moving around
And their mother with her voice,
As hoarse as a broken gramophone
Drones on and on.
She talks of bills to pay,
And relatives to meet.
She mentions someone,
I forget the name next instant.
And No!
She isn’t talking to me.
In her voice, hard with years,
Bossy with struggle,
Angry with fate.
Drabbles upon unaware
Talking to her boys,
Who remain uninterested
And her words die upon empty air.

Rocking back and forth
And back again,
Her hands wrapped around her own knees,
Like ivy wrapped around dandelion seeds.
That will fall apart
The moment she leaves her limbs
To move on their own accord.
So the greasy girl,
With two piglets of hair
Loosely packed in bands,
Hugs her body closer to herself.
Protecting
Shielding
Just like the old and lanky
Crooked gardener,
Looking after his prized petunias.
She looks at me with distrust
From the back of her lashes,
I never knew that observing someone
With all your hate focused
From your irises was plausible.
And I too look again at the girl,
Not with fear or hate
Just curiosity mingled with my breath.

I swipe my gaze,
From passenger to passenger,
And the con artist with eyes blue
Smirks at me.
His hands grasping the threads
I am sure only I cannot see.
For he seems to tug at some strings
Which I do not feel,
Yet I feel a tug,
A pull
At the organ
Beating behind my fleshy breast
Tucked among lungs
Cajoled amidst ribs.
He smirks and plays on and on,
On his instrument
Deceitful like the winter snow,
Cold to feel
And harsh to touch.

The gates of the train are shut,
Closed with a sign mentioned so.
But such signs are found at stores,
But why again,
So many boards claim open or close?
I look out of windows
My breath leaving behind
My marks of life upon the glass.
It is white outside,
Like fallen cotton threads
Binding a Web,
Blinding me
To look beyond the cabin
I currently home.

Wait! What madness.
That I know cannot happen.
So, stop right there,
No. Do not go further,
Someone, stop the train,
Halt!
Pull the chains,
Oh! Please!
Somebody,
Bang! Bang!
The windows won’t buzz.
Knock! Knock!
No one opens the door.

Wait!
Oh Sir, thank you for asking,
Yes I would want to leave.
Oh Sir! Now don’t laugh and walk away.”

And he left too.
Like every last person
That I have stopped and asked,
Demanded,
Cried,
And ordered
To let me out.
And they are staring,
With creepy Cheshire smile,
The boggy full of people
That I am now wary of.

It is closer to midnight now,
And the mother with her boys,
She is still droning on and on
Telling tales of wolves and blood hounds.
And that girl with bleak eyes,
And limbs that are ready to leave her behind,
Is still clutching at her heart,
Ready to pull apart,
Shreds of her soul,
Which I doubt she holds.
I am fearful for my sanity.

Oh! What madness.
What fury!
Stop the train!
Halt the tracks!
Pull the chain!
Blow the whistle,
For the gates to crack.

And the con artist,
He simply smirks
Now passing me the strings,
I strings I said I cannot see.
He passes those threads
Again to me,
And I unaware of the threads,
Not visible,
Cut my fingers
And bleed.

Oh crimson blood
Trickles down my arm,
And I hear a lapping sound.
The boys with the mother
Are upon myself
Like blood hounds
Closing,
Warming up to their prey.

Oh! What madness.
I stand only to be pulled down again,
I look at my reflection
On the mirror hanging
Down by the blackened door,
And a ghastly, pale
Devoid of blood and fuel
Reflects back,
Smiling with no resemblence
To what I know of me.

With hands shaky,
I pull upon my sleeves
And gently touch my chapped lips,
Looking at my reflection
With hollow bags under her eyes.
One hand to my bosom,
Listening to my hammering heart.
And the other in my pockets,
Searching for the door pass.

And when my fingers gently,
Brush against a paper slip.
Finally found,
I look at the ticket
With trepidation,
Oh Lord! I boarded the wrong train.

©krishnatre

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