The Ride to Mashhad

Hopped on a train
On the way to Mashhad
Riding along the outskirts
Of the Capital city
Speed gradually increasing
Hearing the clump-clump of the tracks
The gentle sway of the train
Like rocking a babe to sleep

As we go the city turns to sand
Slowly disappearing
As if it turns to dust
Riding along hearing
The clump-clump, clump-clump
As the train runs down the track
Seeing the desert go on for miles
As if nothing else is there
Feeling the gradual climb

As we go north
Going through the dark tunnel
Not knowing what is on the other side
Closing my eyes I look up and see
The inscription on the cabin door
This was an old Russian train
From the sixties
I close my eyes to the rhythmic sounds
Of the train running down

As day turns to night
We come to a stop
Just passengers coming and going
Not my stop
The train gradually starts again
Picking up speed
The sway puts me back again
To a semi-peaceful slumber

I awake and see the day
The train gradually slows
The clump-clump seems
To be louder now
We are closer to the city
The sway not as soothing
But is still there
The train made it again
Safe and sound
To the city of Mashhad.

©MGA 2006

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Posted on February 23, 2017, in Poetry and tagged , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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