I awake with the sound of the train
Passing by
I sleep with the sound of the train
Passing by
I feel the vibration of the earth;
The ground below my feet shakes;
I wave my hands as it leaves;
I watch my world go by.
My father is a station master;
He stays awake like an owl;
He is responsible for the changing light;
I see him flagging the train as it passes;
He waves the cloth, he signals ;
Abba tells me the train travels the whole of India.
How big is my India abba?
How big is my India abba?
Chook chook, chook chook it comes and goes;
My mother sings a lullaby;
Nursing my younger sister to sleep;
Amma tells me to hold the plate carefully;
If it breaks to pieces, it can’t be joined;
Like our relatives in our neighbor’s land;
How big is my India amma?
How big is my India amma?
I see my elder brother with his head bowed;
In books he always sleep;
Bhai says he will one day become an officer of India;
He shows me a map of my country;
On a piece of paper;
It is smaller than my foot;
How big is my India bhaiya?
How big is my India bhaiya?
My sister hums sare jaha se accha, ye Hindustan hamara;
Appa makes chapatti;
”I will show you India.” She smiles;
And forms one, from the wheat dough;
“See,” she says, “The chapatti is in the shape of India.”
How big is my India appa?
How big is my India appa?
Again I hear the siren of the train;
I run to catch a glimpse;
My friend Kalam, lives near the station;
We like to play nearby;
He says his abba is in the Indian army;
He has traveled far and wide;
Chook chook, chook chook; I hear;
The train fades into oblivion
I will travel and see for myself someday;
This train connects my India
“sare jaha se accha, ye Hindustan hamara” is a famous Indian patriotic song (an ode)
composed by Muhammed Iqbal. First published in 1904, the song had a great and
widespread impact on the Indian multitude during the time of our independence
struggle and continues to stream in the consciousness of the present generation.
Please, Mr. Engineer, tell us all
a story from yesterday, of
smoke and train tracks rattling…
tell us of the promise
of enterprise, please tantalize,
Please, Mr. Fireman, show us all
a shovel full of furnace coal, of
blackened bodies in the soot,
open up the iron door and
let us peer into the embers,
Please, Mr. Car Conductor,
let us off right here,
before the terminal, before
your last whistle calls
the final traveler.
The platform is my favorite place,
both home and destination,
a meeting place for friends displaced,
the lonely waits, in stasis based,
until the horn proclaims reunion,
The iron horse has run its race,
on time and on schedule,
I wait as swirling papers chase,
my watch with broken face replaced,
until the platform trembles, wait.
Trains travel in circles
around the track,
reaching their starting point
again and again,
and we, helpless, watch
as they travel from
point A to point A,
until the day
they are packed away…
The Conductor (TC)
Food Server (FS)
Passenger (RB)
Passenger (ESP)
ESP: It’s so dark out there, I can’t see a thing!
RB: Stop complaining, that is so typically girlish.
ESP: You may blame yourself for not buying me a transporter!
RB: Oh, for the love of…..
TC: Tickets, please.
ESP: Why is this train going so slowly? I’m bored.
RB: There she goes again! Are all women claazy ?
Or do we make them clazy?
TC: We’ve slowed the train down. We need more time…
ESP: Time for what?
TC: To write poetry.
ESP: Oh, it’s okay, then.
FS: Sandwiches! Cold drinks! Coffee!
ESP: We better have something to eat.
It’s going to be a long journey.
RB: There she goes again, telling me what to do!
Hey, Mr. Train Man,
build me a train
to travel on rails
through tears and pain,
let the train travel
on tracks by the sea;
yeah, Mr. Train Man
build a black train for me.
Kansas City Model Train Central 
7 responses to “TRAIN POEMS”
Richard
April 12th, 2012 at 14:39
This poem is from the book, BLOSSOMS OF INDIA.
THE TRAIN PASSES BY
by Shigufta Hena Uzma
I awake with the sound of the train
Passing by
I sleep with the sound of the train
Passing by
I feel the vibration of the earth;
The ground below my feet shakes;
I wave my hands as it leaves;
I watch my world go by.
My father is a station master;
He stays awake like an owl;
He is responsible for the changing light;
I see him flagging the train as it passes;
He waves the cloth, he signals ;
Abba tells me the train travels the whole of India.
How big is my India abba?
How big is my India abba?
Chook chook, chook chook it comes and goes;
My mother sings a lullaby;
Nursing my younger sister to sleep;
Amma tells me to hold the plate carefully;
If it breaks to pieces, it can’t be joined;
Like our relatives in our neighbor’s land;
How big is my India amma?
How big is my India amma?
I see my elder brother with his head bowed;
In books he always sleep;
Bhai says he will one day become an officer of India;
He shows me a map of my country;
On a piece of paper;
It is smaller than my foot;
How big is my India bhaiya?
How big is my India bhaiya?
My sister hums sare jaha se accha, ye Hindustan hamara;
Appa makes chapatti;
”I will show you India.” She smiles;
And forms one, from the wheat dough;
“See,” she says, “The chapatti is in the shape of India.”
How big is my India appa?
How big is my India appa?
Again I hear the siren of the train;
I run to catch a glimpse;
My friend Kalam, lives near the station;
We like to play nearby;
He says his abba is in the Indian army;
He has traveled far and wide;
Chook chook, chook chook; I hear;
The train fades into oblivion
I will travel and see for myself someday;
This train connects my India
“sare jaha se accha, ye Hindustan hamara” is a famous Indian patriotic song (an ode)
composed by Muhammed Iqbal. First published in 1904, the song had a great and
widespread impact on the Indian multitude during the time of our independence
struggle and continues to stream in the consciousness of the present generation.
Richard
April 14th, 2012 at 10:32
*
*
A STRIKING PARALLEL
by Richard Brotbeck
Please, Mr. Engineer, tell us all
a story from yesterday, of
smoke and train tracks rattling…
tell us of the promise
of enterprise, please tantalize,
Please, Mr. Fireman, show us all
a shovel full of furnace coal, of
blackened bodies in the soot,
open up the iron door and
let us peer into the embers,
Please, Mr. Car Conductor,
let us off right here,
before the terminal, before
your last whistle calls
the final traveler.
*
*
Richard
April 14th, 2012 at 10:40
*
*
THE LOCO MOTIVE
by Richard Brotbeck
The platform is my favorite place,
both home and destination,
a meeting place for friends displaced,
the lonely waits, in stasis based,
until the horn proclaims reunion,
The iron horse has run its race,
on time and on schedule,
I wait as swirling papers chase,
my watch with broken face replaced,
until the platform trembles, wait.
*
*
Elaine
April 14th, 2012 at 11:01
LOCO MOTION
© Elaine S. Polin
Down the platform to the train
limping in the pouring rain,
“All aboard!’ you withered crone,
“Your seat’s here. Rest your bones.”
Next to her an old man sat;
thin white hair, thin white hat,
he told her of the songs he’d sung
when he was strong and very young,
They saw a tunnel drawing near,
she grasped his hand in sudden fear,
he held a mirror to her face
“Regarde’, this magic place.”
Her wrinkles, freckles, sags had gone,
now young again, they traveled on
side by side, that man and she,
towards a final destiny.
Elaine
April 17th, 2012 at 17:36
TRAINS
© Elaine S. Polin
Trains travel in circles
around the track,
reaching their starting point
again and again,
and we, helpless, watch
as they travel from
point A to point A,
until the day
they are packed away…
Elaine
April 21st, 2012 at 09:37
Conversation On The Train
© Elaine S. Polin
Characters:
The Conductor (TC)
Food Server (FS)
Passenger (RB)
Passenger (ESP)
ESP: It’s so dark out there, I can’t see a thing!
RB: Stop complaining, that is so typically girlish.
ESP: You may blame yourself for not buying me a transporter!
RB: Oh, for the love of…..
TC: Tickets, please.
ESP: Why is this train going so slowly? I’m bored.
RB: There she goes again! Are all women claazy ?
Or do we make them clazy?
TC: We’ve slowed the train down. We need more time…
ESP: Time for what?
TC: To write poetry.
ESP: Oh, it’s okay, then.
FS: Sandwiches! Cold drinks! Coffee!
ESP: We better have something to eat.
It’s going to be a long journey.
RB: There she goes again, telling me what to do!
Elaine
May 26th, 2012 at 20:25
TRAIN MAN’S SONG
© Elaine S. Polin
Hey, Mr. Train Man,
build me a train
to travel on rails
through tears and pain,
let the train travel
on tracks by the sea;
yeah, Mr. Train Man
build a black train for me.