A quarter of a railway seat
And gloom of a motionless soul
Is all it takes to make what life is
The great speed of the running train
The sleeping co-travellers
In the dimly lighted compartment
The sticky ailing body
In the clothes of yesterday
The hopes of an early dawn
The faint glimmerings of a destination
Seek to set at rest all the questions
With a long yawn
That amply stretches the limbs
And sends soothing waves of relaxation
To the mind
Temporarily bringing to a halt
Its ceaseless activity.
Though the train keeps on running.