Whistle Poem by BASAB CHAUDHURI

Every ten minutes, a train whistles by -
where does it go, by the by,
the whistle has a sound of melancholy,
of departing for ever,
the same sound, although so similar, never comes back.
Like life, no one is similar to the other,
they ask me, why I bring life back into the whistle,
there is no answer -
yet there is life in everything that is around.
A dead rat on the road, even it had life a few minutes ago,
when the whistle started blowing, it was alive and running,
it could not cross the road,
went under the tyre as the sound was on the wane.
Another whistle and death again,
of the sound,
north or south - bound, I am not sure,
what I know is there was life and it is no more.
Life doesn't stay for ever,
but sudden loss,
I can't come to terms with it.
Death doesn't ring a bell,
it's only after everything is over that the bell tolls.