We had passed the bridge spanning a river of sand
At dawn, when our noisy train spoke to its emptiness.
Once out of it, the train was bending like a centipede
And we took a long backward glance to see the bridge
Now smarting under noise injury on its deaf,deaf ears.

 
The buffalos on its sand-bed looked up, unmindful
Of the bridge, of the noisy train that passed, and of us
In the train that saw them as mere globs on the sand.
Their black bodies longed for green puddles of water.
Their eyes seemed vacant, as their tails swished flies.
We saw they had not even once met us in our eyes.

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