After Max Ernst's 'Europe after the Rain'
In the dark
each sits alone
clutching his flag
I have more than my one death
to attend to
there is a sickness about
and the magician has vanished
But I sit with my twenty six years
spread on my palms
and I wait for the silence
when the programme is interrupted
and the speakers have no script.
And I think how to carry my children
into the sewers.
Roll up the cities.
Let the window explode
in a million glass flowers.
In the darkness already
the woman picking milk from the step
the ashes raked last thing at night
are postures, buried
slipping into dust, rock, ooze,
furniture of a planet
wheeling in silence
lonely as a train
waving its little handkerchiefs of steam
Ken Smith's Other Poems
Read this poem in other languages
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
Comments about this poem (Train by Ken Smith )
- Kopje onder, Madrason writer
- five past three, Pradip Chattopadhyay
- Trapdoor, Pradip Chattopadhyay
- Gans Veer, Madrason writer
- Be What You Are, Lilly Emery
- The abrupt end., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Native land., Gangadharan nair Pulingat..
- Believe in Yourself Worth, Lilly Emery
- Odd One Out, Nalini Jyotsana Chaturvedi
- Do without It, Anirudh Rawat
Poem of the Day
- 04 Tongues Made Of Glass, Shaun Shane
- The Road Not Taken, Robert Frost
- Still I Rise, Maya Angelou
- Daffodils, William Wordsworth
- Do Not Stand At My Grave And Weep, Mary Elizabeth Frye
- No Man Is An Island, John Donne
- Phenomenal Woman, Maya Angelou
- Invictus, William Ernest Henley
- Nothing Gold Can Stay, Robert Frost
- If, Rudyard Kipling
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
- Heather Burns