Sunday 15 August 2021

Nivedita N, Poetry 2021 Featured Writer

That Stench At The Train Station

The winter fog blanketed the station 

In its own embrace but that stench 

of god-knows-what-not 

had entered surreptitiously


The two-hour wait before the train arrived 

was the time for our game: 

dashing our brown and 

green VIP suitcases 

as our parents watched


soon when we’d stop and 

that stench would return 

crowding our minds like 

the hurried passengers 

on those arthritis-inducing staircase 

we followed suite, 

entering the compartment 

and there the stench was:


like the seat passenger 

looking into your plate of lemon rice 

curious about its texture. 

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