The train whines on its rails,
cornflowers wither
in a deserted small station.
Someone has built a road nearby
twining like vines
between walnuts and hazels.

The travelers rest in the shade,
cyclists fall asleep on handlebars,
horse-drawn wagons loiter in dust,
old songs are hummed once again
near the freshly plowed stubble field.

The road expends its transitory prints
slowly and painstakingly
in this age of velocities
aiming different directions.

Categories: My Poems in 2009 | Tags: , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Post navigation

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Create a free website or blog at