As a passenger,
In the train that its every station is same,
But no people knew when their station came.
They left for the station without biding goodbye,
And left people after them for futile cry.
I also stopped at their station for last bye,
But who could give reply to my bye.
For some days, there remained violence,
Which then ended with a shrieky silence.

As a passenger,
I observed, passengers are tied up in untold path.
And obliterated, not their station late.
Some yearning to leave the train fastly,
But their station is not early.
Some are fascinating in their lights,
But some sense thorns every time in their sights.


As a passenger,
Many left, many took place,
But no one had a way to chase.
It decreases when train alter decency,
That it seems like a fixed conspiracy,
At stations, only abandoners know the soar,
Those seven minutes, when everything comes fore.
One day, I also step my foot at my station.
And it would be my last and real destination.

Discover a hidden easter egg

Humaira Jan
Humaira Jan
Humaira Jan is a Class 10th student from Hussaini Public High School. She likes poetry.

A word from our sponsor

read more


other articles