House By the Station
In a house by the station,
A bearded old man lives alone.
During the days, he sits by the window,
Looking at trains going out and coming in.
At nights, he shuts the window, and
No one knows what he does inside.
Except for the light from an electric bulb,
That escapes from his room through the gap
Between the window's leaves,
Everything about the house and the man is a mystery.
Every night, at quarter past midnight,
When the light from his room goes off,
Everyone believes he has gone to bed.
That is the only thing one can say with some certainty,
About the man and the house.
I am leaving this letter for you.
Hoping that you will surely find it,
I am explaining about everything in it.
I have been traveling in these trains, alone.
Some trains arrive, some leave.
Some going to big cities, some returning home.
But all the trains blow their horns near this station,
And wake me up several times every night.
In the trains, I see faces:
Some happy, some sad. But they travel with me.
I, as usual, succeed to hide my feelings, and
They, my co-passengers, do not know whether
I am in sorrow or joy. You know better.
The truth is,
I never stop seeing you waiting for my arrival.
One day, the house is found empty.
The door is left ajar.
In the old man's room, on a table,
They find a sealed envelope and a book of poetry
With a note on the first page -
" I have reached my station. I am disembarking,
Everlastingly washed by your love. I will unpack
The memories when I am home."
Copyright © Ibohal Kshetrimayum | Year Posted 2018
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