‘The Ghost in the Steel Cab’
Dr Belavadi Prabhakar
The city sleeps in padded berths,
While starlight skims the rail,
A thousand souls in dreaming depth,
Behind a canvas veil.
But at the head, in shadowed light,
Where amber gauges glow,
One pair of eyes dissects the night
to give the dream its flow.
No cheering crowd, no staged applause,
Just rhythmic, heavy breath,
A steady hand on iron claws
Between life and death.
Through monsoon’s wall and winter’s ghost,
The signal’s lonely green—
A vigil at a singular post,
The pilot felt but was never seen.
They do not know the hands
That holds the throttle’s heavy weight,
As mile by mile the track unfolds
Against the whims of fate.
The journey ends, the masses spill,
They vanish through the gate, while silent,
At his window still,
He waits for morning’s freight.
A thankless turn, a quiet pride,
In grease and steel enshrined,
The one who leads the restless tide
And leaves the light behind.
Travellers hop in and pop out,
With the pilot out of their thoughts,
Though paid, he deserves a lot,
In our mind, for him, let there be slots.
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