Talking To the Station
When I'm quiet, I talk the most
I talk to the trees,
I talk to the wind,
I talk to the invisible hand that caresses my body when I'm thinking
I talk to the random wife
Tell her to shed the skin of endurance and evolve
I talk to the naked beggar
Tell him to jump off the bridge if he really is so needy
I talk to the young couple
Tell them to hold hands and wonder if they fit like a puzzle
I sometimes talk to the roaches in the railway station
Afraid and amused,they stare back with remorse
As if they know what I'm trying to say
What am I trying to say?
I talk when I'm the most quiet
The whole world is saying a story
No one is reading it
Every one is ripping the pages apart,
Stomping them in a fit of merrymaking
Sometimes in an ocean of faces
I hear another quiet soul or two
A fleeting moment of exchange of exhilaration
We wander with backpacks and no purpose
How easily I cross paths of nomads who talk like me
If only I could stop them and REALLY talk.
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