These sounds are children
born premature –
Taratari taratari taratari
So rushed, so unexpected –
they had to be given the same name.
Here, just near the station,
people push, like night does on day,
as if it were natural,
this way of moving,
of dislocation,
like prayer, a shove toward the unseen.
Rush is froth, it leaps to the surface.
Taratari taratari taratari
Here it’s fuel,
here these words are planets
moving around the sun.
The train is the sun –
it stands still,
forcing everything in meaty motion.
It’s the magnetism
of those we’re scared will leave
without us –
it keeps us in place, glued by fear,
in schools, waiting for parents,
in life, unsure about the speed of death.
Taratari taratari taratari
After the train leaves
the sounds disappear,
like we do,
like junk must,
after its short shiny life.
Sumana Roy is a poet, fiction writer and essayist based in Shiliguri, India. Her debut poetry collection, Out of Syllabus: Poems (2019) was published by Speaking Tiger.
