In Passing....

When you stood at the door
Ceremoniously
Countering winds,
The Train had begun its race.

You stood
And it took you away
From it all.
You stood there
For long.

It wasn't raining on you
But elsewhere, a place
Far away, A place
You could only smell.

And Mangoes too
On giant trees
Belonged to anonymous
Backyards
Of an anonymous clan.

Children giggled at you,
At your sun-glasses
Habitually
Paying reverence
To the passing Train.

You wondered what
They had eaten
At home,
Those awkward bellies
And a gleaming face.

And the driver at the engine too

Where was his home?