This poem is not final, but is the product of a sudden inspiration while thinking on a train. It requires final touches, but it has now the virtue of spontaneity.
Eighteen millions,
the train here comes,
million faces,
the train then goes.
One face there shone,
but the train was gone,
between million faces,
to never return.
Eighteen millions,
how many more?
Shine there I saw,
standing alone,
saw her just once,
but the train was gone,
between million faces,
forever begone.
Eighteen millions,
I was one more,
She goes to Brooklyn,
I to the Bronx.
Saw her at Union,
but the train was gone,
between million faces,
I was just one more.
Eighteen millions,
hours on board,
some on the N,
some on the Four.
I glared her,
but her train was gone.
She goes to Brooklyn,
and I to the Bronx.
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3 comentarios:
Brother, I can just tell, What a beautiful poem... It took me back to just one special place in my live and heart, NYC!
Glad you there, proud of you and happy for you...
This poem makes my soul very happy, hope the girl on the train feels the same.
Keep writting brother,
Love,
Sister Bea
Thank you so much my dear sister! I'm glad you liked it.
Estupendo este poema, hijo, en serio de te lo digo. No soy crítico literario ni domino bien la lectura en inglés, pero le encuentro un suave y cadencioso ritmo, acorde con tu intención expresiva. Varias de las palabras elegidas contribuyen adicionalmente con esa sutil idea de tu estado espiritual, y la repetición de leimotivs:
¨Eighteen millions...
She goes to Brooklyn,
and I to the Bronx...¨
es muy atinada.
Y para mi placer, sólo tuve que apelar al diccionario en dos palabras, jajaja... Sigue escribiendo, que la vaina va bien.
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