From here to there

These ageing wheels creak
But unlike my bones
They can be greased

I am on a slow train Home
And when the coal runs out
And the pilot call it quits
These tracks would hold no meaning anymore

It is this slow movement
Through the ups and downs
Of an undulating terrain
That I thought is what we call life

The blind beggar woman
Who would just not fold up and die
The achingly bright cities
And the abjectly poor
With their unholy cries

The covid infected watchman
Who coughs for a week
Before the government calls him
And asks him for a good date to die

The little migrant girl child
Who saunters in the sweltering summer Sun
And will never know KFC
Or ABC

To the son I never had
Little rascal of mine
This place won't miss you
And to my little Princess
My dearest
This isn't a place you would miss

I hear the rickety wheels changing tracks
Soon, it will be a slow beat to a stop
And it will be my turn to alight.

Light a lamp my dear ones
Let there be some light.