When I departed and left home 
the friends, the school, the familiar and dear things;
I felt a big emptiness in my heart. 
And then I looked at the pitch black train 
heavy, cold, mute, dirty but beautiful 
And I felt like it represented me, like my life. 
Taking in new places, filled with many anxious thoughts 
that don’t agree with many people 
who are agitated and speak for different motives, 
the train stops for only a little while, then it starts again 
on it’s road, sending out it’s frustrated steam, dreaming
of the arrival: that will be beautiful, always more beautiful. 
And then it finds the old one, sighs, and it stops. 
 
And so did I; except I don’t have the shiny rails
 and the station depends on my willingness. 

The above poem is the English translation of the original Italian poem. The translation was written by Mila Ottavini, with the aid of Marta Ottavini and Ugo Tomassini.

The writer of this poem is Antonio Ottavini, and is captured in this original photo.

He was born on the 2nd of October 1937 and passed away on the 4th of August 1995.