 | In the deepest hours of the night a distant rumble invading dreams disturbing there my sweetest slumbers rousing slowly old desires taken for granted in his eyes… | |
Many long years we had believed that distant trains to parting loves serenade with rhythmic songs lyrics that remind us when love was still a steamy tea... | ||
With job commitments he rides the rails... our lives the rails, parallel, as parallel, never meet except at that illusory point where certainty of life exists... |  | |
and I, alone, rekindle that so quickly consumed by heated fires of passion, the innate combustion such that fuels the trains that carry loves away then back again in pain-rejoicing-pain-filled cycles commuting in the late-night hours... | ||
 | Rolling, rolling, clicking, clacking down the smoking, littered tracks through small towns and countryside bringing wonder to his eyes rekindling wonder as he rides the ticket that returns to me... | |
What are his thoughts, of life, of me as the train rolls from Bahrain along the busy rails, back to this, his home for many years; and to me, with silly fears that I’m no longer the new-found flower guaranteed to catch his eye… | ||
| Long ago I'd greet him noisily offering what I thought he’d need now the lights are soft and dim- the twilight suits the clothes we're in and what he needs I give to him just like the train he takes in turn, without a word… | __________________________________ |  |
Adding your comment:
By reading this poem I got all kinds of images... my relationship with my husband (who is too often elsewhere) and the rails running parallel. There is a similarity, although the rails never touch, my husband and I do! No longer a new-found flower? lol. 
Anna.
