People come and people go away.
People come to my life.
For a second or two.
For a minute.
For an hour.
For a day.
Sometimes even for a weekend or a fortnight.
Sometimes even for a month.
For a year too.
And for a cup of tea.
It's all about trains, I suppose,
As life is nothing but a huge railway station.
People go away from me and I stay where they leave me.
I do not travel. I am waiting for you to arrive with the next train.
Will you come soon?
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem