my sweetheart is the railway
fast trains
stroke her slender joints
slow trains
follow her steps faithfully
freight trains
warm her a smile
it is dark
a gentleman gets off
the platform meets him greedily
he enters the railway station
lies down on a bench
old of so many characters
nobody around
the cashier closed the window
no trains till morning
a neon lamp blinks tiredly
over an advertisement
which baits you gladly
with a hotdog fallen in additives and substitutes
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem