There is a train that passes by
The roof of my mind
Where the parables of history
The present victories
And the future decay
There are no passengers but only travellers
With a destination which is far away
They sit together, huddled in
Far apart from each other
With the hollow of their faces
They gape at the door
When will it open
When will it close
That is a riddle… They often misquote
The steam engine bustles
The train moves
In a solitary path it keeps its pace
At night time the stories rage on
At day break worlds collide
There is a question somewhere
But no one figure out why

There is a train that crosses over
The rooftop of my mind


4 thoughts on “Train

    • You’re right. I think the back story here is really what my teacher kept saying about people and how she wanted to travel via trains and everything
      I just sketched this poem in my head as we were talking 🙂

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