A bilingual poem by Mario Bencastro

2014-11-02
A Train Called “Hope” I remember my first presentI opened my eyes and there it wasA little train crossingThe mountain of my pillowOver my bed’s valley.  Ever since I started to travelThrough countries and citiesRiding the little trainA gift from my mother.  Life sent my parents awayTo work at distant placesAnd now I ride on a trainTo meet my brothers and sisters.  This is not the train of my giftNeither is the toy on my bedThey call it “The Beast&rdqu...


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