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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