The Language of the Marshutka
The Marshutka travels down
the jarring road, and
just as in
life, we are unsure
of the hurdles we will
encounter
along
our
winding
journey.
The torn and
chalky seat carries each
of you,
And you are with me,
Just as was
intended, by a divine intervention,
for our blessed
meeting.
Your kindness needs no
words because I can see it in your
eyes,
beneath the veil that
covers the raw you, the one that
cries,
Scripted within
your
iris,
I follow your narrative, with
every creasing blink,
And through passing
looks
our living stories
interlink.
In those speckled brown
pools, I see your soul,
I see
your past and
the worries you hold, passing windows
of cobalt blue
I feel the truth that lives
in you,
and
in apertures of forest green,
I see the things that you
have seen.
Your dandelion clocks,
show where you
went astray,
and where the wind of life blew your
seeds away,
And on this everlasting journey,
the two of us sit opposite one another
on this rickety marshutka,
Separated by the language we speak yet
found in our own translation.
Copyright © Charlotte Boyle | Year Posted 2018
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