Whispers of the Nilgiris Toy Train

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Beneath the veil of morning mist,
The engine hums like a lullaby kissed.
A whistle cuts the waking sky,
Like a flute where dream and daylight lie.
The air, a cool and verdant sigh,
Carries the scent of earth and sky.

From Mettupalayam, slow we climb,
Past forests old as ancient rhyme.
Trees stand tall like temple spires,
Bathed in dew and golden fires.
Each leaf unfurls, a vibrant green,
A silent, ancient, woodland scene.
The sunlight dapples through the boughs,
Where unseen forest creatures rouse.

Rivers curl like silver thread,
By mossy rocks and flower bed.
Waterfalls leap like joyful deer,
Their crystal song so sweet, so clear.
They tumble down with frothy might,
Reflecting sun in dazzling light.
The gurgling murmur, soft and low,
A constant, soothing, rhythmic flow.

Through tunnels deep and shadows wide,
Like secrets that the hills still hide.
And bridges stretch like arms that cling,
To valleys where the blackbirds sing.
The echo whispers, quick and brief,
A thrilling moment of relief.
Then burst of light, a vibrant hue,
As emerald vistas greet the view.

Tea gardens roll like emerald seas,
Waving softly in the breeze.
Each leaf a boat, each field a wave,
On green-tide slopes the workers brave.
The air is thick with fragrant zest,
A verdant carpet, truly blessed.
Rows upon rows, meticulously kept,
Where nature's tranquil beauty slept.

Women bend with graceful grace,
Like swans in motion, light on lace.
Their saris flutter, bright and bold,
Like butterflies with threads of gold.
Their laughter rings, a silver chime,
Echoing through the passing time.
With practiced hands, they pluck and glean,
A timeless, captivating scene.

Clouds drift by like ships in sky,
Sailing the blue with silence high.
The sun peeks through like molten glass,
Upon the dew-kissed mountain grass.
Shadows crawl and slowly creep,
As secrets that the mountains keep.
Then brilliant bursts, a golden gleam,
Reflecting in a waking dream.

And when we near the town of bloom,
Where flowers sway and jacarandas loom,
Ooty smiles like a page from lore,
A fairyland forevermore.
The air now carries floral scent,
A sweet and fragrant argument.
With cottages of painted charm,
A refuge from all worldly harm.

So ride the train where beauty sings,
On iron trails through verdant rings.
The Nilgiris whisper, soft and true,
A journey shaped in mist and hue.
A memory etched, a sweet embrace,
Of nature's pure and tranquil grace.
Until the next enchanting call,
To stand so peacefully enthralled.




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