I am the track of that rail
Where infinite tales stand along my side
Upon me, Nehru sought the land’s rhythm and rhyme,
And Gandhi plumbed the depths where nation's soul stays,
Weaving a vision of a land where progress and glory reside.
The lifeline of the common man, the pulse of trade,
The wheel of commerce that turns across the plains;
Though forged of unyielding iron I am made,
I echo with the thrumming of the nation’s veins;
With every passing train, I carry a story forward,
And at each station I alight a fresher hope.
Though mortals deem me lifeless and mute,
Yet I perceive and feel each living pulse:
The weary, heavy sound of every wheel,
The energetic roar of the engine,
The welcoming stations,
And the hopeful travelers gathered there.
I am the track of that rail

The one that witnessed a tearful face break into a smile;
The one that saw many who had parted reunite,

And saw unions, too, dissolve in silent parting.
Countless chronicles have I watched pass through me,
Sometimes becoming signs of love, sometimes of struggle.
Somewhere a tired laborer returns to his village toward the solace of his soil,
Somewhere, a youth departs to embrace the city's glamour

One comes laden with the dreams,
another returns having attained vision,
Tracing the two horizons of life that are ordained.

I am the track of that rail

Upon which so many youths sacrifice their lives to
The clutches of addiction and gambling;
While others press each day with valiant stride
Toward the distant beacon of their goal.
I hear the cry of ruin, the hollow echo of defeat,
And also the triumphant beats of victory drums.
Thus, encountering life's diverse paths every day,
with the myriad turns and twists of life.
I am the track of that rail

Who watched an entire nation weave into a single thread.
Where the fragrance of every soil proudly sings the glory of its village,
And as I stretch from north to south, from east to west,
the languages may alter, but the heartbeat remains the same And spirit remains the same of humanity.