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.