I work hard from sun to moon <br />In spite of that my fate finds nothing <br />I am like a local train <br />Nobody looks behind after arriving at their stoppages <br /> <br />My sisters seem as long platforms <br />If we can not make them reach at the scheduled stations in time <br />Society will blame I feel no fear no faith <br /> <br />My father also an old-train of Bangaon line <br />He carries he staggers and breathes fast <br />There is no time to pause <br />He passes the stations one after another <br />And blows horn frequently <br />The western wind converts the horn <br />Into stinging pain that pierces me <br /> I can not shout I can not cry <br /> <br />Overcoming stormy hazards many ups and downs <br />My beloved friend the dark night comes to me with starry sky <br />All the stars are tearful yet I can not lament <br /> <br />Sun arises <br />Apu and Durga come to see the young-train <br />In the mean time the old-train has gone far away...<br /><br />Tapas Baidya<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-train-12/
