Elderly men two,
One spectacled, other not,
Covered with woolen clothes and all,
Watches bandaged to dry wrists,
Merrily sit and sip evening tea.
Bench is bare and but they don’t care.
A call they have
An old mate is in hospital
Languishing lone for life’s breath.
Once they shared joys and woes
Once they visited friends and foes
There was mirth in the air
There was gay in their gaits.
How can they forget communal days?
How can they heal mutual wounds?
So they glue to the screen
Two tickets they need,
Tea after tea, route after route…
Yes, lucky they are
Two tickets they get
By the window side.
Home they return,
Eyes gleam, hearts splutter,
And they wait for cocks to caw
And they hear the birds
They run to the sleepy station
And catch the mail
And they shriek and shout,
Finally settled, a call they make
On wheel to their fading friend,
‘Zooloo! we’re almost close to your bed!’