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Narrative Poetry - Eavin Antony
A mile in his shoes
The train trundled along the track, amidst
Wispy yet tranquil clouds boasting cryptic colours.
Perishing away into the encroaching darkness,
The fiery red orb completed the autumnal panorama.
Promising a serene night sky freckled with stars,
Shone the moon, waned into a slim crescent.
Each a glimpse, lost for eternity.
Pierced, through the eerie silence,
Like an injured trooper, a shrill bawling wail.
Near the door walked, a thin figure with feeble gait,
And crestfallen eyes, soothing a babe in swaddling bands.
With a bristling beard and twisted disheveled features,
Neither his husky lullabies nor his fragile pecks sufficed.
Dispirited, gave up, did he.
Relentlessly, for hours, the baby did stop not;
Much to the other travellers’ exasperation.
Many who displayed false surges of concern;
Besides the incessant sympathetic counsel.
A storehouse of vitality, in a passionate frenzy of youth,
A lad consumed in anger, flushed cheeks, contorted nostrils,
Spat slurred yet caustic words.
“I know how irksome little Ruby must be;
Since yesterday, not milk, or food has pacified her.
Her mother awaits in another coach, first save one.
Unbolt this door so that we may leap to our last,
And rid you of this timeless squall, since
I cannot raise a kid, whilst her mother rests in a coffin.”
Said he, “Apologies, dear brother.”