Going to pass by
The SM and his assistant
Immaculate as ever
In their starched, white uniforms
Stand at ease, flags at the ready
One red, to tell us to stop!
The other green, to wave us
Frantically past!
My hands get sweaty as we approach
The level crossing just before the
Canal which flows under the bridge
That leads to the road that snakes
Over the dunes in the far beyond
The brown, sparse horizon blazing in the
Desert sun, over which
I know
You are sulking
My palms get sweaty
And I feel the lump in my throat
I need to gulp whole mouthfuls
To keep from suffocating
Why is it that each time the down
Train snakes past this outpost of the
Indian Railways that I get my hopes up
That this is the end, my redemption
Is at hand!
You were not here the last time
Nor the one before that
Nor the times without number prior
Why, oh why would I then get my hopes up
That this time, you would somehow get
The train to stop and tell me
You were right
I was wrong and that everything would
Be all right between us again!
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