In the metro I travel,
A dozen stories to unravel,
Each passenger carry a fable,
I can guess only the label.
I like to play a detective,
Observing quietly is my tactic,
Analysing different retrospective,
Makes you more connective.
First, I see a man,
Sitting on a seat,
Clutching his bag,
Like a thief away a feet,
Must have learnt a lesson,
never be careless for a beat.
A women holding hands of her child,
Dropping her to school on early rise,
Parenting is a job of big size.
Some Muslim men with long beard,
Might change at Central Secretariat,
For Jama Masgid is neared.
All youngster on their phones,
Listening music or playing games,
Too busy to appreciate the,
Beauty around them, what a shame.
A couple lurking in back corner,
Showing affection to each other,
God not, love be for how much longer,
Little gurantee, they will take it further.
(lovers now a days)
An old man entered the train,
Body frail and the face pale,
3 people at once stand up without fail.
Seeing this kind of sensitivity,
My trust strengths in humanity.
Many other characters,
Young and old,
Each is a conspirator,
Of stories usually not told.
And here comes my station,
I got off the train,
Leaving behind all the characters,
To travel alone on my lane.