Morning leans on metal poles

Conductor’s bell, two lazy tolls

Tickets torn with inky thumbs

Howrah dust on everyone

Red paint chipped to a softer pink

Hand fan swaying over spilled tea drink

Posters peeling, gods in blue

Driver’s mirror catching you

On this old tram to College Street

Rust in the rails, rhythm in the seat

City rolling under our feet

Slow as a prayer, soft as steam

On this old tram to College Street

We pass by the place we used to meet

You look away, I count receipts

Hanging on to a moving dream

Hooghly breeze through the open frame

Sweat and jasmine braid their names

Rickshaw wheels and hawker calls

Sliding past these rattling walls

You trace hearts on fogged-up glass

擦り擦り, wipe, let the people pass

Stalls of books like crooked teeth

Yellowed pages, ink that breathes

On this old tram to College Street

Rust in the rails, rhythm in the seat

City rolling under our feet

Slow as a prayer, soft as steam

On this old tram to College Street

We pass by the place we used to meet

You look away, I count receipts

Hanging on to a moving dream

Rain starts sudden over Bidhan Sarani (hey!)

Children race the tracks, bare knees, dark tar

You say, “Someday I’m leaving this city”

But you stay till the final bar

On this old tram to College Street

Rust in the rails, rhythm in the seat

City rolling under our feet

Slow as a prayer, soft as steam

On this old tram to College Street

Last two stops and a fading beat

You ring the bell, stand up, then speak

“Let this slow world stay in between”