9 Th Avenue. Poem by Subhadip Bhattacharya

As the train slowly passes through the tunnel covered with an inner lining of black sooth, the rattling of subway train lines rattling under pressure...
The rumbling of the engine machines and the wheels....
Feels like cold disinfected dinners at night and a mellow sunlight that even feels like washed clean during daytime.
View of a subway train and perfection..
I know outside my window,
is only my reflection...

of the graveyard cornering down the railway track. The end of the world, yes!
The covered machine of a subway train,
and time ticking away...
after say 50 years none of us will be alive.

And death and the subway train... seems to have a entwined future,
of somewhere that is very hard to say.

Motion and the time say of it's essence.