Poetry Garden

The Train, It is a Poem

With a green light on the switch track,
the train arrives—a gust of wind, rushing strong.
The train arrives—on the platform, in the longing of every pair of eyes.
The train arrives—in the reluctant ache of lovers and kin.
The train arrives—amid the groans of overloaded struggle,
and still it comes, breaking through frozen harshness,
limping forward step by strained step.
Through thunderous roars and threats,
the train, still, it comes.​

Seeing the train, thinking of the train,
I think of poetry.
Each blast of the whistle—
short, long, gentle, rushed—
is the train chanting for itself
an ardent poem, Virtue Travels the World.​

A life with poetry needs poems,
a poetic life needs the train,
needs journeys, needs
to let thought and soul
race along the tracks.​

Train, I think of you—thinking of the train,
I always think of what lies ahead.
Moving forward is your constant,
the horizon—always your direction.​

Train, I think of you—thinking of the train,
I think of expectation:
those eager, anxious eyes,
tiptoes straining toward something yet unseen,
all kinds of beautiful hopes—
hopes for distant skies, distant wonders,
and hopes that words cannot capture.​

Train, I think of you—thinking of the train,
I think of courage, of daring,
of stories without rehearsals,
a bewildering road ahead,
of mysteries, surprises, sudden and deep.​

Train, I think of you—thinking of you,
I think of years weathered, of compassion,
of strength that carries great weight.
I think of sapphire skies, vast grasslands,
and horses galloping wild and free.​

Train, I think of you—thinking of you,
I think of home,
that softest place in every heart.
I think of the longing you carry—
dreams, yearning, parting, memory.
You carry a mother’s thread in hand,
a father’s silent trust,
the eager hope of children,
the whispered care and worry of a beloved.​

Train, I think of you—
you are a sign: upward, onward, toward goodness,
warming the journey, scenting the way,
intoxicating the green hills, the clear streams.
You are no iron dragon—
you,
you are a poem.

​

Wang Danfeng, female, now residing in Nanjing. A lifelong railway soul, she lives earnestly, writes diligently, and holds her own faith. For years she has devoted herself to literary creation and is the author of the poetry collection Maple Fragrance Flows Red. She serves as literary column editor for the magazine World of Trade Unions.

《火车，是一首诗》

随着岔道上的一个绿灯

火车来了 一阵风，强劲地吹奔

火车来了 在站台上，每双眼睛的渴望中

火车来了 在亲人、情侣不舍的心疼里

火车来了 在超员超重挣扎的

呻吟声中，火车来了

在冲破冰冻严寒

举步为艰的蹒跚中 火车，还是来了

在雷霆怒吼的威慑中

火车，依然来了 看到火车，想起火车

我就想起了诗歌 那一声声汽笛，短的

长的、缓缓的、仓促的......

都是火车为自己，吟唱

吟唱的一首《德行天下》激情诗

诗意的生活，需要诗

诗意的人生，需要火车

需要旅行，需要

需要让思想和灵魂

奔驰在路上

火车，我想你，想起火车

我总是想起前方

前进，是你的常态

前方——永远是你的方向

火车，我想你，想起火车

我就想起期待，那些

迫切的、焦急的 渴望的眼神和踮起的脚尖

种种美好的期待，期待

远方的天空，远方的异景

还有，还有不可言传的期待 火车，

我想你，想起火车

我就想起勇气、胆识

没有彩排的故事，扑朔迷离的前方

还有神秘莫测的意外和惊喜

火车，我想你，想起你，我

就想起沧桑、慈悲

想起了厚德载重

想起蔚蓝的天空，辽阔的草原

和奔腾的骏马

火车，我想你，想起你

我就想起了故乡

那每个人心底里

最柔软的地方

想起你，承载的乡愁 梦想、憧憬、思恋和别离

你承载着，慈母手中线

承载着父亲无言的嘱托

儿女殷切的期盼

爱人的，叮咛和牵挂

火车，我想你

你是向上、向前、向善的喻示

一路温馨，一路芬芳

醉了青山，醉了绿水

你不是钢铁巨龙，你

你是一首诗啊

王丹凤，女，现居南京，一个永远的铁路人，一个认真生活、勤奋写作、有自己信仰的人。多年致力于文学创作，著有个人诗文集《枫香流丹》，《工会天地》杂志文学专栏主编。