Rays moved closer
Melting the railroad track
Beyond the old station
Locomotive started to drum
Metal wheels crawled and creaked
And screeched between urban poor
Squatters waiting for government
Relocation project
Thick old windows as concrete shield
Against thrown garbage, Indian pana,
Stoned by the gang war conflict.
Rusty floor was rocking
Noisily across fenceless bridges
I glanced next passengers
Who sat cross-legged
Position while playing “tong-its” card
I pushed them accidentally
Sorry, ‘out of balance’
And the Bicolano’s sheaf of vegetables
Loosened and scattered
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem