The poem was inspired by a graveyard next to the train station in Bergen, Norway. |
Next to the rails at the train station there is an old graveyard And as the trains pass the ancient thuja trees and the pine trees and the silent stones and grass of the silent souls They watch and they whisper among themselves for they cannot move, they have seen a different world They might have moved along, seen the world from the window of a train But our world is so different, and yet, the trains still leave the old station As they did in yonder days. And the trains roll busily past, huffing and puffing and waving goodbye They have no time to rest among the leaves, no time to see the world passing by, no time for watching silently over the coal- coloured crows; They are busy, you know, transporting souls to another heaven. They are so much alike, the trains and the dead, yet neither will know of it - for both are caught on their rails, cannot leave their place They are the carriers of souls from one place to another Neither not knowing what awaits them on the other side of the road. Some hoping, some dreaming, some staring blankly into the sky, unseeing holes gaping at the empty void that leaves them waiting, watching as time dances on the cold wrought- iron fence Witnessing a time that has moved on and left only the stones of the station and moss- grown slabs of marble as the world passes noisily by. |