The Departure

The native air still has
A strong aroma
That the toughened glass
Of the train can’t hold.

The language that’s so dear
And melody to my ear
Reaches me still
Amidst the chaotic whistles of the train.

The lush green landscapes
In a mid-summer afternoon
With cattle grazing tirelessly
Demeaning the sun’s fury
Are like parting treats to my eyes
Before this ruthless train drags me away
From my loving homeland.

[Published earlier at StoryMirror]