I Saw a God With a Beard!
That railway station abandon
No more trains stop,
He sits the beggar on a wooden bench
And he shares his scanty cold meal
with a stray dog!
Moon witnessed the strange dinner
with me.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Bench
I saw her and felt very sad
There she was, thinly clad,
Sitting on a bench on a railway station,
Motionless, there was no animation,
No showing of any observation,
Her aura was one of devastation,
Although things were happening all around her,
Nothing seemed to make her move or even stir,
Actually no movement of any kind,
She was acting, totally blind,
No spark of recognition,
Or of making a decision,
Staring blankly into space,
As if lost without a trace.
I wondered what was making her this way,
All I could do for her, was to silently pray,
And watch the tears go sliding down her face,
Oblivious of the place, that was her location,
Which was, sitting on a bench on a railway station.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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A Place To Sit
Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Trains
Here I am at the end of the day
With a cup of cold coffee
From the station buffet.
On trains, on trains I seem
To spend my life on trains.
See the blue suit banker in the ticket line.
Got an evening standard with playboy
Hidden behind.
On trains, on trains he seems
To spend his life on trains.
Time after time.
Was I just dreaming?
Did I help you aboard?
Full passenger service ---
Let me help with the door.
Sit down take the weight off your feet.
Theres a train full of people Id like
You to meet.
On trains, on trains we love
To spend our lives on trains.
Join the secret world of trains.
Feel the pleasure. touch the pain.
Drift into yesterday.
Once and again
I was just thinking.
We could meet sometime
On the 17.30 where
I usually find
My friends at the end of the day.
May we pay your fare, lady?
We should like you to stay
In our train. on trains ---
Youll have to spend your life
On trains.
I hear theres an office party on the 18.05.
Youll be home for christmas if they
Take you alive from the train.
Those trains, we have to spend our lives
On trains.
Once and again
I was just thinking.
We could meet any time
On number two platform
Where I usually find
My friends at the end of the day.
On trains, trains, trains.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sleep not deep
On the railway station
Train was comes and
Go...
Time was move...
Pasangers are
Walking plat form
Coffey shop bysy
Books shop hory
Railway station sleep well
At sunday...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Farewell
My far away dumb lass
I hear your unsung sad song
from your talking eyes.
Your shattered lips
will not allowed for a kiss.
With my faded dreams
I sat on an isolated bench
in this ruined station.
I am sure that your express train
won't stop here.
I see the parallel railway lines
which stretched over to the promiseland.
My stringless lute cries with me
and I know this is the last goodbye train
to the eternity.
Dedication to the speechless souls who died in warfare.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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A Second Train Song for Gary
When the trains come into strange cities
The citizens come out to meet the strangers.
I love you, Jack, he said
I love you, Jack, he said
At another station.
When passengers come in from strange cities
The citizens come out to help the strangers.
I love you too, I said
I love you too, I said
From another station.
The citizens are kind to passing strangers
And nourish them and kiss their lips in kindness.
I walk the unbelieving streets
I walk the unbelieving streets
In a strange city.
At night in cold new beds the welcomed strangers
Achieve in memory the city's promise.
I wake in love with you
I wake in love with you
At last year's station.
Then say goodbye to citizens and city
Admit this much—that they were kind to strangers.
I leave my love with you
I leave my love with you
In this strange city.
poem by Jack Spicer
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Two Station Masters
TWO STATION MASTERS
My friend is a station-master
at Hill Groove in
Nilgiri mountain section
33 years of railway service
fully spent in this sleepy station
hardly, two trains a day
in summer, say, one more
no goods traffic
nor frequent crossings
no revenue instead - ‘Safety' award
for ‘nil' accident record,
closed for rains and landslide,
station is locked up at 6 pm sharp
his gross earnings is forty thousand
for two or three man- hours spent
hill allowance, free warm clothing
no boss to obey, no risk to bother
happiest worker
does'nt want any change, either
look at his counter-part
positioned in a busiest double line,
handling 30-45 trains, within
a tight span of 8 hours
whole night, in full vigil
with all round tension
at times, an irate passenger
supervision of all kind
sucked out and exhausted
leaves for his home,
for the same pay - packet
is it an anomaly
or equity, parity, one cadre- one pay
equal pay for equal work
………………………..I have no answer.
Louis Santhana
poem by Santhana Louis
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I Can't Stop Loving You
Writers: billy nicholls
So you're leaving
In the morning
On the early train
I could say everything's alright
I could pretend and say good bye
Got your ticket
Got your suitcase
Got your leaving smile
I could say that's the way it goes
I could pretend and you won't know
That i was lying
'cause i can't stop loving you
I can't stop loving you
No, i can't stop loving you
Though i try
Took a taxi
To the station
Not a word was said
I saw you walk across the road
Maybe the last time, i don't know
Feeling humble
I heard a rumble
On the railway track
And when i hear the whistle blow
I walk away and you don't know
That i was lying
'cause i can't stop loving you
No, i can't stop loving you
I can't stop loving you
Though i try
'cause i can't stop loving you
I can't stop loving you
No, i can't stop loving you
Though i try
song performed by by Leo Sayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mannequin and a pauper
This nonchalant beggar who loves a model queen
in a showcase.
When his till is full of coins
he just heads for an isolated pub
drinks a little and have a scanty meal of junk food.
In the night he backs to his ramshackle bed on the pavement
and makes a sound sleep.
They never talk each other and only in dreams
they wander hand-in-hand in no-go area; the 'paradise.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Evergreen
I’ll sleep within these woods tonight,
That much, at least, is plain.
I’d hiked for several hours
And not much day remained.
The shadows on the ground grow long
As it’s that time of year
when leaves on branches are few or none
and shadows sinister appear.
There is a clearing up ahead;
A friendly glow is seen
A solitary camper sits
beneath an Evergreen.
His smile is warm and friendly
He bades me to remain
with gestures warm and welcoming
Speech lyrical and strange..
I share with him a simple meal
Of pan fried fish and beer.
The meal seems like a miracle
As I know of no lake near.
Dark night has come and both are glad
To spread our bedrolls down
I sleep the night like one who’s dead.
I wake, and no one’s near.
No sign of my host or his tent
No sign that he was here.
I shake my head in wonder
And pack my roll to go.
What the Evergreen has witnessed
is not for me to know.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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5. 15 The Angels Have Gone
5:15
Im changing trains
This little town
Let me down
This foreign rain
Brings me down
5:15
Train overdue
Angels have gone
No ticket
Im jumping tracks
Im changing towns
We never talk anymore
Forever I will adore you
5:15
All of my life
Angels have gone
Im changing trains
Angels like them
Thin on the ground
All of my life
All legs and wings
Strange sandy eyes
5:15
Train overdue
Angels have gone
We never talk anymore
Forever I will adore you
Cold station
All of my life
Forever Im out here forever
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Opening of the Railway Line
The opening of the railway line...
The Governor and all,
With flags and banners down the street,
A banquet and a ball,
Hark to them at the station now !
They're raising cheer on cheer,
The man who brought the railway through,
Our friend the engineer.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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An Old Clock Tower beside a park
I am stagnant here and you don't believe,
My feeble hands won't move anymore
As the machine has stolen, sorry
I cannot give you the right time.
Alas! You choose the digital watches.
Nobody wants to paint and repair me
And I remember the colonial days here
Lovers meet & depart with thousands of promises!
But none comes nowadays except a friendly beggar
Who counts his till, a nightcap with a scanty meal
And I hear he groans like a bull!
* Heaven lies about us in our infancy.
-Alphonse M.L.Lamartine
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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What For Them Was Isn't
What for them was isn't.
Like the taste of a lollipop,
That has faded from one's memory.
The activity is remembered.
But the flavor of it is gone.
And many are trying to hold onto it.
With a savor craved...
That brings them to the edge,
Of a tantrum fit!
Since what sits in their minds from yesterday,
Hasn't for them really gone away.
They want it returned!
They want it to stay!
They feel betrayed by an enslavement made!
What for them 'was'
ISN'T anymore.
Or will be again.
For anyone else to be explored!
Those heard droaning in a whining moan...
Are lost and locked in a consciousness,
Soon to be all their own.
What for them was isn't.
It's never coming back!
That's a fact they wished attacked.
But from a clock that has stopped its tick tocking...
The hands on it sit!
And there is no movement witnessed from this.
There is no movement witnessed from this.
And there is no movement witnessed from this.
There is no movement witnessed from this.
No movement,
Is witnessed from this!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Who is a beggar and who is not
Take your coin, I am no beggar
In our country
Beggars are less uncommon
They are there anywhere
Except
Cemeteries
Burial ground and
Cremation yard
They beg you so pathetically
That you are forced to dropp a coin
Pavements invariably
Irrespective of the city
House beggars
You can make out them
By the way they look
Women beg
Pointing to us the little child
They carry on their waist
Old ladies too beg
And they station themselves
Against you in your path
Making it difficult for you
To step ahead further
While you are on a wait
Either bus stop
Rail station
Park or beach
Some one or the other appear before you
Begging
Truly speaking
It hurts me to turn away someone
Asking for alms
Without getting them something
Some hold the view
That they need not help beggars
As they are not the one
Who made beggars beg
Begging should be discouraged
And to do that
Beggars should not be helped
Is some others’ view point
I am not quite sure
Whether to help beggars or not
I normally dropp a coin of least denomination
In the begging bowl or in the opened up palms of a beggar
Provided I have the coin
If I do not have a coin to part with
Or if I do not have the mind to help
I muster the strength
To tell the beggar
That I have no changes to spare
This morning
I was rushing to the office
After getting down from the bus
I saw a middle aged male
Who was rolling down on the tar topped road
Sitting on roller-fixed wooden plank
Pushing with the help of has hands
It appeared he had no legs
I decided to help him with a coin
As I got nearer
I came to understand that he was polio affected
Both his legs becoming non functional
Of late, thin and feeble
I ran my hand through my left pant pocket
Got hold of a coin of a better denomination
Than the one I normally prefer to drop
Stood by his side
As he was enjoying a puff of a lighted cigarette
On his lips
He did not lift his face
Having waited for some seconds
I decided to dropp that coin
I did the same
And started going towards office
I heard the rolling of wheels
When I looked back
The person on the wheel-fixed plank
Pointed his right index finger
Towards the dropped coin
About four metres on the backside
And said curtly
Take your coin
I am no beggar
As I reached the spot
And picked up the coin
I felt too small of me
And in fact, beg for the knowledge
As to know
Who is a beggar and who is not
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Wooden Heart
As the fire warms my eyes
I cannot not burn myself
Inside
As the cold hands all my cries
I cannot not loosen the flaws I have, hold
Inside
As I use some wood to make my heart
I throw the blooming flowers in the fire
that grow from my wooden heart apart
And those sticks I hold between my broken hands
I throw them in the remaining cold
The flames as they slowly eat my grown respect
The fright that fearlessly warms my eyes
I' ve learnt to appreciate my multiple faces
Respect my wooden hearts all the exhausted made-up tears
I've been taught how to show gracious respect to my clothes made of laces
And how to be incapable to bare my nudity inside the cold
In the weirdest crowded and vacant places
Between all the exhausted made up cries
And their coldest faces
I bleed, I'm touched
I feel moved like I'm taking far too much
I tear as I let the fire stop
I'll burn my heart
My wooden heart
And as I lie
I'll let the freezing cold
Regain my trust
And burn me till I die
I burn my wooden heart
At last i get control now
In my wooden
paralyzed
cold
hand.
poem by Katerina Val
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Old man
Old man sits on a bench
His life surrounded by a cyclone fence
Remembers times from way back when
As he sits beside his best friend Ken
Relives the old times again and again
He was married to his late wife Jen
The love of his life from back then
He says his sorrow will never mend
Pulls out a card he never did send
Tries to be tough but he can`t pretend
He says Jen was his very best friend
Was very sad when her life did end
Tells ken that you never know when
The time you have will come to an end
Send your love as soon as you can
Don`t delay for another day
Sometimes god will take her away
Here on the bench the old man stays
Day after day he sits and prays
A tear from his eyes as they start to glaze
With love in his heart that never strays
Even after they have parted ways
poem by Joseph Whelan
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When Rainbow says you're not seeing my true colors
My Railway track joins somewhere
On a particular day to the Rainbow
And the whistle of my train
Not so loud as earlier and some mechanical fault
It seems!
And the Lantern too is dimming
As the oil is not sufficient?
I have my own plans and some great notions
But how could I reach you
And get down at your colorful one stop station,
When you say that I am not seeing your true colors?
I am really backwards and pull the chain to stop
But that doesn't work properly.
Please give me a word at least I can raise my voice there
And come for a conclusion with some negotiations?
*'You know you're old when you've lost all your marvels.' -Merry Browne
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Cant Stop Loving You
So youre leaving
In the morning
On the early train
But I could say everythings alright
And I could pretend and say goodbye
Got your ticket
Got your suitcase
Got your leaving smile
Oh, I could say thats the way it goes
And I could pretend and you wont know
That I was lying
Because I cant stop loving you
No, I cant stop loving you
No, I wont stop loving you
Why should i
We took a taxi
To the station
Not a word was said
And I saw you walk across the road
For maybe the last time, I dont know
Feeling humble
Heard a rumble
On the railway track
And when I hear the whistle blow
I walk away and you wont know
That ill be crying
Because I cant stop loving you
No, I cant stop loving you
No, I wont stop loving you
Why should i
Even try
Ill always be here by your side (why why why)
I never wanted to say goodbye
Im always here if you change, change your mind
So your leaving
In the morning
On the early train
But I could say everythings alright
And I could pretend and say goodbye
But that would be lying,no
Because I cant stop loving you
(cant stop loving you)
No, I cant stop loving you
(I wont stop loving you)
No, I wont stop loving you
Why should I even try
Because I cant stop loving you
(cant stop loving you)
No, I cant stop loving you
(thats all I can do)
No, I wont stop loving you
Why should i
(why should I)
Why should i
(tell me why)
Why should I even try
song performed by by Phil Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Always Begging For More
at a certain point
there is a crisis be it
in your career
or marriage or friendship
or about
another love that constantly
keeps on meeting
you in the
street
like a beggar
or you can be that beggar
always asking
for what is not given
a mess
really
the unfulfilled self
keeps you running
people think that you are such
an active and never exhausted
genius
it is the crisis that keeps
you moving
the storms that push the boat
farther
leading to strange lands, meeting
you with strange people
it is not over the oceans expand
sunless days
it is not within your power
to stop the journey
even if you do not do anything
keeping your hands on the side
of every moment, gazing and
blankly accepting what is given
it is hard, it is real, it is
you, it is this world
the unfulfilled self keeps you running
and always you are begging for more.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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