LCDs  placed adjacent

To a  busy railway track.

Squatters oblivious

Of the imminent danger.

The Black Locomotive

Is never too far,

The Inexorable inevitably

Catches up with life.


Their smartphone cameras

Working overtime ,

Busy clicking pictures,

Making videos ,

Of effigies burning,

Firecrackers fireballing,

Of Politicians beaming

In Kaleidoscopic light.


Of Organisers napping

Amidst thunderous cacophony,

Of local administration,

Who shall call it

An Act of God.

The Railway staff

Remain ensconced

In their Ivory towers.


Snapshots and videos

To share with friends,

And for themselves

To someday actually look

What they saw live.

Wont watch them now

Clear this data

Make space  anew.


Picked up guns

On a  mad man’s whims

Took a decade

To get pacified.

Cant keep off drugs,

Which the enemy sends,

Sore losers,

For attentions,we cry.


We are so helpless,

We  have no choice,

But to burn straw stubble,

For your troubles  we sigh.

No one warned us,

We are retarded  hobos ,

Not on tracks do trains run,

Everything in Punjab Does Fly.









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