“From Asmara to Massawa“

Pants and puffs and rattles
The locomotive… “puff puff”
Between ribs and cliffs
That make your breath shorter;
then it goes lower,
and goes up and up
over the invisibile edges
and puffs and pants
and rattles
the locomotive of Asmara.
Suddenly
It goes into artificial caverns
digged with nails and blood
of undreds of engineers
of iron and of pick.
Under that,
green emerald green valleys
where the eye is lost
between a whistle and a puff
of a white cloud.
This is the train
Of dreams that slides
On parallel bars,
screeching but happy
to support the weight
of a thousand  so sweet
or melancholy thoughts
from Asmara to Massawa.

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