The Crack

Hopped up on my 12:43 Metro Train,
in the tunnel just before my station,

I see a caged bulb placed on its wall.

The cracks around it, runs quite deep, 

and has its edges smothered by pain

the pain of witnessing countless faces

pass by 

and not knowing what happens to them.

The pain of not knowing how the faces
shine when the ray of sun falls on them.

The pain of being so still that it didn't realize
what actually happened when time had
seeped through its polished surface smoothly
at first
creating fissures and breaking the wall on its
way, it wanted to find what lay beneath the wall,
wished to feel its pulse, the way it could
sense the faint thud on a human flesh, just before
life perished once and for all. Let us call time T
for its running out from all of us. We are nearing the
T - X
oblivious to its strength, and its true intentions.
Time was never a healer, yes, it did make us
numb towards pain and heartbreaks, towards
sorrow and soul wrenching memories. It dulled
the memories, covered them with a translucent sheet
so that upon recalling, we can only trace the hazy
outlines
of a past we once lived, thrived and died in.
But the Wall, unaware of it all, confused to
its might, keeps looking at this thing which
wooshes past itself, with faces packed in it.
some, looking back towards it absentmindedly,
some waiting for the tunnel to end, and a few,
staring back
at it, with utter confusion, the same delusions
in the back of their head. The ones who are
trying to run away, from situations they are in,
praying to the mischievous God of Healers, T,
to take their pain away, these are the Faces at which
Time stares back too, bit frequently, through the
cracks.