I am the track of that rail
Where infinite tales stand along my
side
Upon me, Nehru sought the land’s
rhythm and rhyme,
And Gandhi plumbed the depths where
nation's soul stays,
Weaving a vision of a land where
progress and glory reside.
The lifeline of the common man, the
pulse of trade,
The wheel of commerce that turns
across the plains;
Though forged of unyielding iron I am
made,
I echo with the thrumming of the
nation’s veins;
With every passing train, I carry a
story forward,
And at each station I alight a
fresher hope.
Though mortals deem me lifeless and
mute,
Yet I perceive and feel each living
pulse:
The weary, heavy sound of every
wheel,
The energetic roar of the engine,
The welcoming stations,
And the hopeful travelers gathered
there.
I am the track of that rail
The one that witnessed a tearful face
break into a smile;
The one that saw many who had parted
reunite,
And saw unions, too, dissolve in
silent parting.
Countless chronicles have I watched
pass through me,
Sometimes becoming signs of love,
sometimes of struggle.
Somewhere a tired laborer returns to
his village toward the solace of his soil,
Somewhere, a youth departs to embrace
the city's glamour
One comes laden with the dreams,
another returns having attained
vision,
Tracing the two horizons of life that
are ordained.
I am the track of that rail
Upon which so many youths sacrifice
their lives to
The clutches of addiction and
gambling;
While others press each day with
valiant stride
Toward the distant beacon of their
goal.
I hear the cry of ruin, the hollow
echo of defeat,
And also the triumphant beats of
victory drums.
Thus, encountering life's diverse
paths every day,
with the myriad turns and twists of
life.
I am the track of that rail
Who watched an entire nation weave
into a single thread.
Where the fragrance of every soil
proudly sings the glory of its village,
And as I stretch from north to south,
from east to west,
the languages may alter, but the
heartbeat remains the same
And spirit remains the same of
humanity.