Thursday, July 12, 2012

Next station is rutland

Next station Andheri,
She announces,
In her dispassioned voice.

I know your tonsils have gone dry, And like all the work that turns rut, You have saved your life by staying dead.

You trill off one announcement after another,
I know you mock me as my eyelids try to stay afloat,
Sleep; the temporary death,
Is the only respite of the nondescript worker.

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