Sliding along like water over glass,
gliding along like a lightning flash.
At the fogged windows the rain does lash,
Blurring the simple sights we pass.
Past lonely lake; the surface being attacked by
angry rain drops, as our reflections race alongside us,
never beating us.
Past forgotten farms; their yards empty of existence and
of memories. Machinery lies rusting as the outbuildings, with blackened walls, stand forlorn.
Past an old horse; the beast once so strong but now retired
to a private paddock, to spend his days pacing pointlessly and
lapping from the moss-covered bathtub that collects the rainwater.
Past deep woodland; where naked strangers play without
consent. The sheeting rain drowning out their noise,
camouflaging their very presence.
Past intrigued children; soaked to the skin in flimsy anoraks, but
their faces a-glow with innocent smiles, that radiate in the rain.
Past derelict buildings; their skeletal frames creaking
in the wind. They shed their skin long ago, in their abandonment
of hope.
Past lowered gates; they hold back the surge of rebels, their
bright eyes flashing, watching, as we sail past safely.
Mind reflects on all that’s passed.
Decides, without a doubt, it belongs in the past.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem