At the level Crossing

Here I come to a halt
At the closed doorstep
Of the level crossing
On my daily path.

From the ashes
Of the driver’s seat
I rise like a Phoenix
And in no time get lost in the remains
Of a drowsy past.

There, I delicately felt
The dry petals of a red rose,
The clumsy lines of a crumpled love-letter,
And broken smiles of a pair of white lips
Pronouncing a few unintelligible
Alphabet at the parting time.

And I lend my anxious ears
To the dying echo of her
Receding footsteps overtaking me
During a heavy moment.

I also remember
How I pitied all and sundry
Who hastened to console me,
For they claimed to decipher
The language of my tears silently flowing
From the Gangotri of my eyes.

Here I wake up
On hearing the deafening honk
And metallic commotion
Of throbbing automobiles at my back,
As the level crossing opens
Before my eyes.


R.K. Das