saranyan bee

Travails Of A Drunken Mourner - Poem by saranyan bee

i reach the station
where i learn I'v missed the train
and i cry because i miss
and i cry I won't be at the funeral

they wait for me
and so does she laid in a box
which fogs over and opaque
and they cut the power
and fear they have cut for long
and look at the clock
and at their wrist watches
and each other's face
and they curse me
and switch the box on and wait.

no trains
only stations
lengths of stations
my life is full of stations
and no trains

the fruit vendor
near the pillar of spittoon red,
prunes bunches of bananas
black ones from the bright

and the yellow face
shines his display tea stall jars
crochets and rolls and chocolate bars

and the pepper gray policeman
brushes teeth with a tree twig
as if digging a trench,
and chats merrily with yellow face
while here I sit and mourn and wait

and the woman who sits on her metal-box
corrects the flow of her saree
admires with a cherry face
the enormity of her boobs
as children play around her
catch me if you can

station-master's cap is emblematic
and he walks to his post in objectivity

and all passengers look in the direction
from where the train is supposed to be arriving
and i look at the station master's face
and then where the train is scheduled to go,

like this i miss the train,
i promise this is the reason why i miss
and why i am not at the funeral
and there's no other reason
and then i cry
and wait
as they wait for me,
and they sigh and take her
where they lay her on the bogie-cart
and send her in
and turn their face away as
she is ablaze and smoke,
prayers said
mourners spread
and they curse
the son didn't attend

and I to the bar
where the bartender delayed my drink
to make me brave
and delayed giving back the change
for I needed what's left of my money for buying of the ticket,

my tears clean my soul
and i curse the bartender again
who is lazy and delayed my drink.

Saranyan BV © April 2012 Mumbai

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Poem Submitted: Monday, May 14, 2012

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