Boarding the train, when I move towards the city,
the shrine of my missions,
looking through the window of the train.
I see the village road flee from me,
desperately in a zigzag serpentine way
as if escaping from me like a prey.
I pray, oh Road! why do you flee?
Why thou can't recognize me?
Tell me the cause of your fear, my road!.
Are you afraid of my costume of a city Babu
away from me you flee?
Try to recognize this train,
to see which I used to come
riding on your back,
away from the routine of my school.
One of my hands holding my slipping shorts
from my waist,
the other engaged with the alignment of the school bag.
My aspiration to be in the train,
to bathe in the glamour of the city rain.
Now when I am in the train,
why don't you welcome me to the same?
My promise to give you a new costume,
after I return from the city,
after the completion of my mission.
No dust on your face,
after you get a concrete wrap.
Now, come on my road! Don't be so rude.
Do you think, I am boarding
the train of competition,
treachery, and synthetic emotions,
where aspirations conglomerate to sweat drops,
leaving tense foreheads,
rejecting your sweet invitation
of a cool, simple and tension free rural life?
Come on, oh road! Try to understand me.
I am no longer in slipping shorts.
I have left my school bag years ago.
I have nourished lofty dreams.
If you don't understand me this time,
go away, I will never look at you,
when I pass riding the city bound train.