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.
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Comments about this poem (At The Level Crossing by R.K Das )
(August 19, 1902 – May 19, 1971)
- Algernon Charles Swinburne
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(January 6, 1883 – April 10, 1931)
Rainer Maria Rilke
(4 December 1875 – 29 December 1926)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(3rd April 19sixty)
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