Station

People stand with tickets 

like small permissions to leave.

Some read the time again and again, 

as if it might change its decision.

No one is fully present here

one foot already in departure, 

the other still negotiating with what they call home.

Trains arrive without apology, 

and leave without regret.

Names are called like warnings, not invitations.

And love, if it exists here, 

is always in a hurry it cannot explain.

What hurts is not leaving,

it is how ordinary it looks while it happens

as if separation were just another way of arriving somewhere else.

She is a Pakistan-based published writer whose literary work has appeared in magazines, newspapers, websites, and digests. She is also the author of the book, Eternal Melodies.