Trains (2010) | by Karlo Silverio Sevilla

I don’t remember who often noticed the train first: you, little three-year-old boy, or me,  35 years old and making the most of what we had. Every time it appeared  in the distance — initially as a blur at the vanishing point of the LRT  or MRT railway — we’d exclaim together, “Train!”

(I think I always saw the train first, given my height advantage.  And I always kept you away from the edge  of the boarding platform.)

Those train rides…

One time you were so happy! You kept smiling on your seat;  your delighted eyes on me, squeezing my hand as I stood  watching over you (as oftentimes the trains were full). I kept squeezing back, and the world  passed us by.

I’ll always remember you, Kaleb, and will always carry you  in my heart everywhere I go…

Sorry I decided not to see you anymore. Hopefully it’s for the better, as you deserve better.

Nay, you deserve the best!

Someday, when you’re grown up,  you’ll be riding trains…alone,

and perhaps in search of me.

If I’m still alive by that time,  you’ll find me…

You’ll find me.




Karlo Sevilla is a freelance writer who lives in Quezon City, Philippines. His poems have appeared or are forthcoming in Philippines Graphic, Sub-saharan Magazine, Rat’s Ass Review, Radius Lit, Yellow Chair Review, Eastlit, Rambutan Literary, Kitaab, and elsewhere. In his spare time, he coaches wrestling, trains in Brazilian Luta Livre, and does volunteer work for the labor group Bukluran ng Manggagawang Pilipino (Solidarity of Filipino Workers). 

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