Dreaming on the Corbett Express.
Wishing tigers, wooded hills and rest,
I booked this berth on the Corbett Express,
but Old Delhi Station late at night;
its bing-bong tannoy notes;
its coolies smart in scarlet uniforms
hefting cases between platforms
over the bridge, its crush gnashing in spate;
the grisly drizzle of spit;
the boys who storm each train to sell the seats
slimed with grease, stained with soot;
the holy men and hawkers; mothers and children;
a planet compressed in a building:
these things have so effaced my peace with noise
that when eventually I doze,
indifferent to the locomotive’s scream
at full throttle, I dream
the mass of humankind is on the move,
bloating, swelling like a wave
that shunts its weight against a flimsy mesh
safeguarding our wilderness.
notes
Wishing tigers, wooded hills and rest,
I booked this berth on the Corbett Express,
but Old Delhi Station late at night;
its bing-bong tannoy notes;
its coolies smart in scarlet uniforms
hefting cases between platforms
over the bridge, its crush gnashing in spate;
the grisly drizzle of spit;
the boys who storm each train to sell the seats
slimed with grease, stained with soot;
the holy men and hawkers; mothers and children;
a planet compressed in a building:
these things have so effaced my peace with noise
that when eventually I doze,
indifferent to the locomotive’s scream
at full throttle, I dream
the mass of humankind is on the move,
bloating, swelling like a wave
that shunts its weight against a flimsy mesh
safeguarding our wilderness.
notes