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Micah 3d
to the boys I see on trains
where are you going?
rushing off, rattling down, in a train car
towards your stop
start getting up so you don't get caught being seated
but where are you going?
to work at a job that pays only copper coined pennies?
to your Other who's dressed to the nines?
to school with books weighing heavy in your backpack?
and why do you look at me like I look at you?
are you wondering too?
maybe I have something on my face and you're thinking "my god, she has something on her face"
or maybe
when your eyes flitter up to mine and away and then back to mine
you're thinking of something else
but to the boys I see on trains
I hope you find your way to wherever you're going
because it is too early to be so lost
Ashwin Kumar Oct 8
As I look out of the window
My head laid back against the cushion
Of my side lower berth
My eyes open wider and wider
As they gaze upon the surroundings
The trees, the bushes, the greenery
The mountains, the tunnels, the bridges
The surrounding railway lines, the crossing trains
It is a vivid, and most enchanting dream
However, all good things come to an end
All of a sudden, I am ****** back to reality
As I feel a tingling sensation
I swing around in alarm
And see a creepy little cockroach
Scuttle across the seat
Evidently having made its home here
As I angrily brush the insect aside
I keep my fingers crossed
Hoping against hope
That this is the exception to the rule
After all, hope springs eternal
However, as always, Murphy's law strikes
The little devil is soon followed
By its brother, sister, father and mother
As a family of these incorrigibly evil pests
Unleash a reign of terror
Such that, even the most diehard railfans
Vow never to seet foot in an Indian train again
Especially in a non-AC coach
Frankly, this is the last straw
That broke the hapless camel's back
Dear Railway Minister
You may introduce bullet trains
You may electrify the entire network
You may connect India with China
But, unless and until the day arrives
When we can travel in a clean train
Without the numbing and overpowering fear
Of these evil pests and rodents
Your words mean as much to us
As grass to a lion or tiger
A poem to vent my feelings after travelling in a Sleeper Class full of cockroaches today; albeit for a short distance
Oskar Erikson Aug 31
while scurrying in the underground
he walked like the caves connecting
the city was his birthright
like the current in the earth grounded him
the roaring trains
his adoring subjects

what a moment
brushing past a subterranean prince
glancing at granite jaw
his knowing smile
hands that could have carved a space
out of me.

i turned away as
to see the darkness of the tunnels
peering back at you on the platform
taunting you to jump
was not a commitment i could make.
ALesiach Jul 27
It leaves the station,
then it begins its acceleration.
Off to its new destination,
all the cars in formation.

The train goes rushing by.
Can you hear the whistle blow?
It zips along day or night,
in the rain and in the snow.

Over the hills and through the mountains,
through the square and pass the fountain.
With a screech, its journey is done,
Hop aboard we will have such fun.

ALesiach © 11/09/2014
Josh Jun 21
Another Model Town passes the windowed  train I ride
The train is suspended and still
A beggar, a barn, a family's backyard picnic
Each in their own concentric motion
I remain still in my seat
They remain in motion a perfect glimpse of life
A Model Life
Is life best at a glimpse? Or standing still?
How did I get here?
Did I build this place?
I'm on the highest cliff
Gazing down towards the skyline
The skyscrapers move like trains
Bound for regions unknown
Do they ever stop?
Where do they end up?
m May 23
anchorage alaska, 9:40 a.m
the mountains, 9:41
the dead trees, 9:42
the snow, 9:43
your face, woven into the scenery, 9:44

it is beginning to hollow,
the night, kindling it's daggers around the day,
and i tell you, so silent
as to not wake our voices yet,
"the train is coming."

you are on the boulders,
naked feet,
shoes lost in the shore
and you look at me and smile
and my eyes crease,
like thin wrinkles,
like wire, pulling them shut,
and i smile back.

i cannot think.
the train is approaching,
rumbling over the tracks
like a thunderstorm,
like an avalanche.
and you open your mouth to scream,
but it comes out a roar.

like accumulating rain
in the groove of a gutter,
you're there beside me
and we're both screaming.

and I can feel myself lurching
towards the rails
because at 9:55,
as the train passes us,
i look over
at the naked boulders
at the rising tide
at the burning tracks
and you're gone.

The night wrapped its skeletal arms
back around your ghostly form.
the rain had stopped,
the gutter was clean,
and everything
was a miserable empty
i miss you
Jenny Gordon Apr 27
Um, ya, trains again.


The train lo, half past midnight, whistles thence
In passing through dead silence none else hail,
Its rumble seeming muffled in betrayl,
As all lie wrapt in slumber for intents,
My sleepy notice--what is't?  Why's from hence
Sae poignant to hear that?  Am I in frail
Excuse long on the empty platform's stale
Reminder dreams have fled, where hope's pretense?
O wherefore does the train's voice 'non bestir
Is soul?  like I aught hearken to
Its call as if I want a ticket--fer
Which landing is it hence?  Or does it cue
Cuz all's a journey--I've ne place here, poor
Though trying e'er to "fit in," enroute to You?

I forgot what my original note was sposed to be.  Haha.  Something to the effect of how trains seem so--dunno what--after dark, a metaphor I can't shake.
Lilli Sutton Apr 4
I spent most of the day on the train from Boston –
writing poems and thinking
of how to undo the mess. I still haven’t found the answer.
My uncle takes me to the Met for the first time –
so much art and so much time
forever onward. Upstairs
modern art canvases, big plain swatches
of bright color. I want to stare for hours
get lost in blues and greens, but it’s closing time
so we get dinner and go back to the apartment.
Beneath the red light and behind curtains
of the same color, I blow up the air mattress
but I don’t fall asleep for hours.

I’m supposed to make breakfast
but they shut the water off. Left
to my own devices, I go to Union Square
and duck in and out of stores all day,
no one to keep me company. Bitter wind skims
off the pavement. I can’t even open my eyes
long enough to see the faces in the park.
Tuesday, when I came home early after cheap dinner
and felt guilty for not doing more. I tried to get ice cream -
one whole hour just to circle a few streets.
I realized – the only day we’ve gone without speaking
in over a year. It feels so good. Maybe it’s cheating
if you reach out and I just don’t respond. But the wound bleeds
every time I open it, and just once I want to give it time to heal.

The long morning where we talk about silence
from people we used to love. Except it’s not sad –
I couldn’t be happier. You’re not joining the army
and I’m not staying in West Virginia. I make hardboiled eggs
before going to Chelsea. I spend hours alone in a museum
but this time I don’t hear the music. I overhear conversations
and write them down for safekeeping. Better than words
getting lost forever. We get pizza and ice cream
and talk about the past. Dad’s in the hospital – has been for a week,
no one told me. Suddenly the ice cream is sour instead of sweet.
Later I hear his voice and he sounds okay. We make plans for the weekend.
I break the silence after one day. Nothing’s changed – it’s worse now.
Whatever – we don’t have to talk. I get wine drunk in a basement
and laugh because everything is so absurd. We get dumplings
and I ride the wrong subway back, the one that makes too many stops.
I’m still trying to figure out the balance
between avoidance and acceptance. One day
I’ll get there. I feel like I’ve been dipped in boiling water,
skinned and left raw. Tomorrow I’m going home
and there’s not enough time. For what I’m not sure –
ever since I stopped wearing the watch on my wrist
it feels like the world is moving so fast I can’t notice,
an illusion of stillness. I shouldn’t have sent that last text –
I always say too much at the end. Always teaching myself
to trip over my own words.

Mornings have become slow and still here.
I never used to linger like this, but maybe it’s a blessing.
Now I can take things in. Old haunts in a city
where part of me grew up. I make grocery lists
for the people I love. Maybe there’s a better way
to care for someone – but I like narrow aisles
and neon lights and people getting what they want.
If I’m alone I can do anything I want. Walk to Central Park
and sit in the sun. Or look at old books. So much time
looking and not reading – does it matter
if I never see the words inside? I wish I was a ***** fish
living in the gutters. I’d swim and swim until I lost my eyes.
I miss the simple landscapes of being home. But I’ll be back
soon. Trains like bookends. Movement like blinking.
Before I leave my uncle asks what I learned and I say
“that I’m capable.” He doesn’t ask of what –
I don’t have an answer. It’s like I used to say –
roll with the punches, or with the trains,
or just roll home.
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