The lonely night trains pass through the dark alleys,
lit sometimes by the yellow splash from buildings and street lights,
standing like wide-eyed witnesses, under the charcoal faced sky,
chained to the ground by irons and stones,
they too long to travel sometimes.

The tracks spread out like straight lines,
keeps its distance from each other,
but always together nevertheless,
when the sleepless trains are too drunk to see beyond the mist,
the tracks guide them home.
Yet sometimes the rattle of the iron wheels,
sends a shiver through their spines.
And they too long to toss and turn,
to shed their decades of weariness.