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PRANTIK STATION
Walking its long platforms,
awaiting the train to Kolkata,
I pray the bandh never ends,
that the engine, four cities away,
will veer off into a rice field or
plain of red clover outside a village.
A wild dog barks in the distance
and I am a breath closer to home,
that city of a different poverty
one without joy. The black
drongo in the Krishnachuda tree,
I would give my life for it.








