There he goes home carrying holey bags full of hopes
After the eternal struggle.
Though it's an express train the kind Engine driver stops at every station as he doesn't want to leave the passengers in the darkness.
But some they do not encourage the delay.
Through the dim lights in the compartment he recognizes his friends.
Some with gray beards and walking sticks.
He secretly looks at the window pane through his thick glasses
And realizes that he too become old gradually.
He deeply think of his family
Already they must have come to the village ruined station and wait at the platform eagerly.
It seemed to be a re-union but he has to come back on the same train some other day to fight with the decaying life again.
Great atmosphere in this one. I love to hear the lonesome sound of the freight trains going through West Columbia at night. Your poem has the mood of an old classic movie. Someone should be singing a folk song in the background.10/10. Always your friend, Sandra
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
Congrats. You have succeeded in picturizing the train journey so well. The idea that one has to travel back on the same train to meet the miseries of life is astounding and philosophical. Thanks and regards. (Nice to see you on PH)