The sunshine and a smile
lost on half a track in the
rattling of the rails, a few
escape to the flower in your hair
opening up a deceased song, a
few stink like half dead
carcasses from which poems
of love refuse to be born.
A few are lost in the sea
and in its hands carrying the
heaviness of millions of memories
only to drown itself in the
forgetting where the rotting
forgiveness will be washed on the shore.
And you who walk
cautiously, yet tragically on this
shore of time, a time knowing no
history of immortality, what do you
collect in your hands, why do you
make this bag heavy for yourself?
Did you yet find half the song
buried in those shells when your
breath touches it? Did not you
find a wail, a half cry, or a trembling dream
there? Why yet you 'being' keeps walking? why yet
you rails keep moving? would you know till the last,
what moves when the tracks don't?
what sings when you don't?
who cries when you don't?
And you the 'being', the born and
'half a life' yet know not.
have a pause, a silence
wait a moment, slow this time
and this run, for
you and me