The Platform

By Ayushi Ghosh

The platform coos softly

Vocalising with the whistling winds that barges in

My eyes dancing along the train tracks

Till it looks into the phantom of the future

A void

Painted with uncertainty.

The time due for the arrival, displayed above me

Shines indefinite..

And so I wait

Staring at pigeons,

Who seem to have nowhere else to go

Counting my steps

Playing a game of balance

While walking along the lines

Nothing happens

Nothing arrives

I scrub the floors

Dust the railings

Feed the pigeons

Trying to make a home out of this ceaselessness...

The sun streaming in through the loopholes

Gets replaced by shimmering stars

And I slowly lose my eyesight

Is this it?

Has my time come

Or was this never the plan all along

Millions of years pass

The discoverers stumble upon the platform

Only to find it transformed into a shrine

Unfazed and hidden from the evolution

They find the remnants of a body merged with the soil

Roots growing out of it

Pulsating with omnipresence

Radiating with the wisdom of ages

Not a soul around

Yet there resides the beginning personified

The pigeons kept cooing

Eager to sing them the tale

Of their enlightenment

By Ayushi Ghosh