My Train of Life

My Train of Life

By (Mawlana) Junayd Makda

Here in my train of life,
I am but a lonely soul.
A soul living in a crowd,
But really i am alone.

I see the others on board,
Some asleep some awake,
Some talking some walking,
Some busy on their phones.

Some busy working away,
While some are eating away.
Each person really alone,
Riding within the crowd.

From station to station,
Some suddenly leaving,
While some preparing to go,
Some sat staring without clue.

Some sat in first class,
While some in economy,
Making no difference at all,
For the journey is still the same.

Each one knowing what is true,
On this journey they are alone,
They are only having sat,
To reach their station home.

This is indeed my train of life,
Moving so swiftly to the afterlife,
Edging closer to my final station,
I am sat ready too.

I need in my briefcase,
Keys for my final home,
My ID card for who I am,
And my CV for what I am worth,

I have transferred all my funds,
And set up some investments,
For if till now I was alone,
At my station, only Allah knows.

I am tired of my journey,
Yet anxious of what awaits,
I hold tight my briefcase,
Asking if I’m ready?

As I stand to the final call,
I look for some support,
But I find no one standing,
For I am really alone.


We are all on a journey to the afterlife and it is a journey we are alone in. It is what we send forward and what we place in our briefcase that matters. If we have transferred good actions over and we are carrying Iman and good actions in our briefcase, we will Insha’allah have a comfortable journey and a lovely destination waiting for us. So we need to spend time and assess what we have done for the hereafter and make sure we have done enough

Why not go through the poem again as a family and try to draw further lessons from what is being said by the poet. There are plenty of lessons to be taken Insha’allah!

Other From ‘Lessons through Poetry’

The Ice Cube

The Clock on the Wall

Muhammad ﷺ – The Greatest of All

Allah will give me better

Noble Guests

Whispering to my creator