Every person on this planet
Was born in a railway station…
The tickets passed out were random…
No boarding pass offered a vacation.
A few are dropped at the first stop
Others ride for hundreds of miles…
Some are dropped at luggage pickups
For Cancer, hunger and personal trials.
Everyone was issued a ticket,
Valid for random miles and destinations.
Each rider’s final stop is a mystery,
No ticket names their final stations.
Sometimes a newborn baby,
Or even elderly old hags,
May disappear in seconds,
As if hooked away like mail bags.
Some passengers are exuberant,
As their journeys just begin,
Yet depressed many eons later,
Realizing their travels have no end.
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