The 8.08 fast

A sunny morning won't cast away

The feeling of dread, as I plod my way
To the station where young and old have passed,
All on their way to catch the 8.08 fast.

As I near the station, a drop of rain
Falls on my nose, forebodes me in vain,
For I'm late as always, having woken at last
Just in time to catch the 8.08 fast.

Breakfast was strictly chew, swallow, repeat,
Books went pell-mell into the bag, not really neat
Morning prayers missed again, alas
All in the attempt to catch the 8.08 fast.

As I enter, the gleaming red eyes indicate
With not much subtlety, my miserable fate,
Forget thou,dreams of travelling with style and class,
You're condemned to travel by the 8.08 fast.

OK, I sigh, resigned to my destiny
Do a hop, skip and jump to reach the FOB,
For I can descry in the hazy distance at last
The glimmering lights of the 8.08 fast.

Lumbering ponderously through the sheet of rain,
A groan ripples through us mortals, for the grimy train,
Is jampacked with mortals, trying in vain
To appear nonchalant while really in pain.

Men clinging to the edges, hanging precipitously
Some perched on the roofs, imitating Mowgli
No shaft of light let through from inside the bogie
For it's packed to capacity, well and truly.

A roar chills the blood, as the cloistered crowd
Lets out its fury at the system, and pours out,
Why not be relieved that the ordeal is past,
Are they not free from the clutches of the 8.08 fast?

Cowed, intimidated, I take a deep long gulp
Steel my self, step forward and jump
Into the fray that is all elbow and fist
A scrum at the doorway of the 8.08 fast.

Scratched and bruised, I get one foot in,
The other knee jams into someone's groin
A passage way clears, giving me cause
To plunge into the dank bowels of the 8.08 fast.

My legs have lost feeling, my arms begin to hurt
And still I try to survive, breathing in spurts
The train lurches and moves, leaving half a thousand lost
Failed in the attempt to catch the 8.08 fast.

A slit of light is all that penetrates
The slovenly interior of the Iron Crates
I see sun morph into shade, it seems at last
The train is pulling into a station, avast!

I prepare myself for war as a passenger tries
To swim against the flow, and get outside
He is slaughtered instantly, and I think, Alas!
All in the quest for the 8.08 fast!

One station, then two, all add to the din
Make no difference to the crazy angle Im in
A cessation of pressure is too much to ask
This aint no ordinary train, its the 8.08 fast!

A prod in the back, the grunted request,
"Will you get down at the next station, [and end your quest] ?"
I reply in the affirmative, clearly
And in no mood to continue with the 8.08 fast.

Before the train slows, I am pushed out
The person in front falls, largely of my own doing
He is trod on and kicked, but I dont give a damn;
For i am finally on solid land!

Then i feel pain, a trickle, then a flood,

A cut on my hand, oozing crimson blood,
The pain of a century awakens and I sigh, Alas!
All in the quest or the 808 fast!

Its not merely a crate, this Local train
But its the lifeblood pulsing through this city's vein
Be it riots, floods or local train blasts,
Im always gonna go by the 8.08 fast.