Published September 15th, 2024
by Shamik Banerjee
Four stations hence, and we'll reach NJP.
The signalman lifts up the waving flag.
Green! Green! Three whistles, and we're underway.
It's eighty kmph. We won't lag
Behind the schedule – good luck is at play.
An hour more, and then it's NJP.
There, we will savour rice and makhani.
Smallholdings, beebreads, platforms, huts, and ricks
Are streaking like some bands of sundry hues.
The canvas – Earth. The art – velocity.
A bright red light – we slow down. Little mews,
Some piebald mares, and lean-tos made of bricks
Amuse our eyes and hearts benignantly.
Some crossings more, and then it's NJP.
Here comes the meals-on-wheels guy
Trumpeting, Hot Samosas! Two for ten!
A fat moustache occludes half of his mouth.
A Telugu fam heading to the south,
Is ordering some plates. He shouts again
Eat, eat the pantry car's best snack, as we
Keep wheeling at full tilt to NJP.
I see a set of many railway lines,
An old familiar bustee by a tree
Of Moringa, a dargah painted white,
And all its classic arabesque designs.
Some red brake vans are passing in my sight.
We're grinding to a halt, it seems. I see
Yellow boards saying, New Jalpaiguri.
Notes:
NJP: Abbreviation of New Jalpaiguri, the name of a railway station.
Bustee: A slum.
Dargah: A shrine associated with the grave of a Muslim saint.
About the Poet
Shamik Banerjee resides in Guwahati, Assam, India.
Read the poet's biography on Shamik Banerjee's Artist Page.
This poem is collected in Comet #3, published in the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
Previously published in India Poetry Magazine:
aurum
by Shraddha Mohapatra
India Poetry Magazine is part of the Wax Poetry and Art Network.
- Visit the main Wax Poetry and Art Submissions Page to see all opportunities.
- Visit the Wax Poetry and Art Library.
- This website and all contents ©Kirk Ramdath and specified artists.
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