Life is to Whistle and not to Run
Life is to whistle and not to run It was not as if he didn't know his place. The only thing he dreamed of was to move along the train and to whistle with it. Road to his home ran besides the old rail track. He grew up waking up by the shudder of train passing over the narrow bridge, under which lived the boy, all by himself. Life finds the way and that is the only reason he lived. How many infants abandoned on rail track would live, tell me? Nobody taught him anything. No mother to teach words, no father to let support of finger while he learned to stand up, no neighbours to teach how to behave, no sister to teach sharing, no brother to teach jealousy, no grandparents to teach love. If he had somebody to teach anything, it was the train and the bridge. And yet he learned well. The bridge taught him to stand all the pain when trains of disparity, of sorrow, of cruelty, of ignorance, of indifference, of hate passed over. And the train taug
