As many deaths of my life
I caused many deaths, too,
To the roads I chose to travel
I bent one and twisted the other
With these rough hands so badly
That they died immediately without air
When I was travelling as an adolescent,
The next one I chose to travel
was straight and smooth
when I was a grown up man
but out of wounds it died too
as it got too many pot holes
by force of my foot heels.
The last one I left stranded to die
With all the lousy dark corners
As I stupidly broke all the street lights
When I travelled it as an aged man.
As I do not wait for any trains any more
Rather trains wait for me
So I do not, now, see any road to travel
But I wait the roads to travel for me
I do not care any one, either two or three
As they will all meet in one
And I am sure I will travel for free
there is a truth that something cannot give rise to nothing. Even nothing has a price to pay in emotional currency. a poet friend RH Peat
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
So trains are good for getting gold and old.