Travelers' Lounge

Life is a constant process of coming and going, of leaving someone behind, of being left behind, of ups and downs, of starts and ends.

The sun’s rage has softened
as, behind the mountains, it slowly drifts.
Through the glass door though, its rays presses
to warm my feet frozen by the long wait.

Sitting, after all, is no comfort.
When, distant from the rest, alone you sit.
Deafened by the silence without,
deafened still by the clamor within.

Outside, the world is busy.
While I, inside the travelers’ lounge,
am stilled by anxiety.

Sitting for long hours, a burden it has become.
And bursting with cumbersome emotions,
my heart could not be calmed.

If only for a while I could go out.
And out there, stay one final time.
But I have to take the last trip
even if the weather’s not fine.

The bus is already here.
I could see the road’s end is near.

Let the wind blow all my fears.
Let it wipe all my tears.



November 10, 2004