Edit 1: Banality

[tectak]

Hi four,
Intensive crit can be demoralising but you seem to have the right attitude...whatever gets thrown at you, take it as a lifeline. This piece is in need...prose by any other name, not poetry. Once you get that in mind you are off on a lurching foray in to areas unknown and it is not an easy journey for the reader. Some discipline is needed. The enjambments and peculiar familiarity makes me think that you think that I think that you know what you are about. Well, I don't...always best to assume that the reader needs as much help as possible...sudden metaphors (almost spontaneous) and intravenous onomatopoeic refrains, injected for no apparent reason, makes the whole thing a complete hotch-potch. It really does not "go" anywhere whilst making all the right noises...like a child sitting on a chair and going brrrrummm, brruuuummm with a pretended steering-wheel. So, a line by line.




Through streets littered withUtterely pointless and devisive enjambment. You have told the reader that you have no intentions of streamlining this piece in to any shape which could conceivably fly. To begin a piece where the whole opener is an inversion  makes the reader wonder why you the way you did went. If this is an attempt to "sound" poetic, it has not worked BUT in fairness, you are only "setting the scene"...so:
I'm making my way home
on a mellow Monday (better) evening;
chit-chat all around me,
littered tin-cans.

 
Your poem, and I am not saying the suggestion is definitive, BUT it may make you decide not to invert quite so freely...
 
tin cans and chit-chat,
I’m making my way home
on a mellow Tuesday evening.
While I wait for a train Odd thought train. Lacks the veracity of the moment...of course you are waiting for a train (though you haven't said that you have reached the railway station) that goes where you want to go. I mean, anything else would be pretty silly...yes? So do not pad it out with this kind of kapok. Concentrate on the envisioning of reality and write about it. Stream of conciousness would, believably, lead you to imagine that the thought you expressed...decided to add to the litter...was fleeting. The problem really is veracity...so what, if you so decide? Is this what the piece is about? No. It is not....and as of now neither you nor I have any idea what the point is. 
that goes my direction,
I decide to add to the mess
by lighting up a cigarette.
I inhale deeply as
my lips kiss the bud;This is called smoking...but kissing the bud is out-of-context jargon introduced in to a mundane scenario. Why should the reader be interested? You MUST bring a tight thread in to the piece. It is all just loose weft and weave...and arriving on platform one, right on time, here come the multiple metaphors.  
stale smoke numbing my throatWhy stale??? It is a NEW cigarette. You just stuck "stale" in for no real purpose...it could be hot, menthol, tarry, acrid, soothing even...but stale?
a feeling like that of a sore love-story.What is "feeling like that of a sore love-story"? Your character, his throat...and how does a story feel, anyway? This requires a happy hour of reconstruction...and more to follow.
Moments pass by like pedestriansI appreciate what you are saying, here, but the "like" does NOT clarify. Here is the problem...do moments PASS (by like pedestrians) or do moments PASS BY (like pedestrians pass by)? While you are pondering on that one I am puzzled by how you spot a rumble...faint or otherwise...Luckily, source of said faint rumble may be apparent as it is "near". Look, let's get real. You HEAR a faint rumble and you train "spot". 
when I spot a faint rumble
coming from a near distance;
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dumWe are in Jaipur station, right. This is the Papadum and Naan Express
 
It’s that distinct sound
of going home,
presented by a carriage
that is marked with graffiti
and the occasional spot of rust.No. It is just over-egging a tenuous souffle...a sound "presented" Wha? Huh? "marked" with graffiti...surely not. Daubed, cloaked, camouflaged, bedecked, garlanded...but "marked"? Hell, it makes me wonder if the "occasional spot of rust" was no more than the size of a pin-head....so WHY mention it? Make EVERYTHING you write COUNT....even if there is  banality to be described, make sure the reader knows why.
It slowly grinds to a halt The unassociated "it" word...a pretty poor excuse for a better word.
with a loud screech and a whir.
Its gates squeak open...and it again. There is a better way to write this. Find it.
and out steps its guard....and it again.
He dons that unmistakable
silly hat and uniform, Veracity issues. Why is it silly? I do not think it is silly. Tell me why it is silly. I want to know.
colored black and blue respectively.A missed opportunity for another metaphorical musing...praise be
He asks for my destination,
to which I softly reply;
“Home, Sir, to Nessingway station".
I show him my ticket
to which he approvingly nods. ...or nods approvingly. Also...pedantic prat that I am..."at which he nods approvingly". If you nod TO, you expect a anthropomorphic response. If you nod AT, no such undertaking is expected.
I crack an awkward smile
while I step inside.Why? Is this of any consequence? Is it the very act of stepping inside that causes such a reflex? Tell me...please...I cannot see the connection. Did you release a plaintive and sub-sonic fart?  
My eye catches a vacant seat Eye catches...cliche. Spoils cluttered crowd.
through the cluttered crowd;
A rugged leather couch withWhere did this couch come from? Are we Pullman here...Orient Express...Days of the Raj?
a piece of fabric tearing out.Torn or tearing...tearing sounds wonderfully comedic...in another context.
I sit down and rest my head
against the glass, staring through.Unnecessarily contrived and constructed sentence. It IS banal but not interestingly so.
As the train slowly starts moving, How else could it POSSIBLY start movinmg without causing G-force collateral damage. Again , your imagery lacks veracity. It really sounds as if you are making this story up...oh, you are.
making that ubiquitous hum:Why on earth is it ubiquitous. I cannot hear it. Hang on, I'll ask my wife out in the garden..hey, hun...can you heare that everywhere hum?...No?....funny...neither can I. Word choice suspect.
Pad-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dumWith mixed pickles...this is how the train sounded?
 
Through the stained windows
I spot my vague reflection. This line I believe
Together we see the sunset
accompanied by an ever-changing décor.Hyperbolic language for the sake of sounding poetic...never works...but do not give up on trying. You are now musing and probably about to start writing this poem.
As if the credits from the end
 of a movie roll through
with a clichéd title like:
“Another day", starring myself
while the rails take me
to the end of my destination.
Instead of the screen turning black,
I get up and step outside,
spotting my reflection in the glass
one final time, while saying under my breath:
“Goodbye and until tomorrow”
The train slowly drifts off
yonder towards a setting sun,
bidding me farewell with that distinct sound:
Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dum, Pa-dum-dumThis is cringeworthy but I cannot crit you for trying to get meaning in to the piece even unto the end, when yonder final period alights upon the parchment pillow and all will bid a fond and fullsome fare thee well to this banality. Yikes.

Intensive, huh. Remember, all is opinion. Shorten this one by concentation. Make each (banal?) thought a cameo...begin, write, end. I could write one called nothin...here goes:

Nothing really matters,
for how would ten be wrote?

Best,
tectak