Anonymous Travelers
ANONYMOUS TRAVELERS
The luminous Southern Cross, had a clear blue sky as a background
to shine off its splendor majestically in that long ago night.
The approaching morning was calm and the pleasing breeze would be shortly replaced by
the tropical sun.........
The bus station was a large metallic structure unappealing to the eye,
And on that early hour it looked too spacious for so few souls,
By five it was transformed into a live, bustling place; people coming and going
To where I don't know..........but there they were and their excitement was pure joy.
Suddenly my eyes fell upon an old man, …. there he lay, his head resting upon his old filthy bag.
As I approached his space, he opened his eyes........
“Good Morning!” I said.
There was no reply.
He tried to sit up, but his frail and stiff body wouldn't allow
There he stayed a little longer, against his will,
Lying still, on the hard wood bench
On the third try, he sit up, albeit with much difficulty.
There we stayed in silence but not indifferent.....
Surreptitiously measuring each other hidden intentions,
Then he looked at me and asked “How far is it to Açailandia?”
“More than 400 kilometers.” I said.
He mumbled some incomprehensible sounds.
The uncontrollable shaking ....and his efforts to hide it... pained my soul.
“Is Açailandia your home?” I asked.
I have no home, .....he looked down as he spoke.....
He tried to add something to his reply, but deliberately withdrew........
I waited, ….....now anxiously to hear what he wanted to say.
His accent was dry, like the arrid Sertão .......Setaneijo he was …...
My thoughts went back to his roots ….... racing to learn more about this intriguing stranger
I formed a nebulous picture of his life,
That forever bright blue sky had broken him down.....
Brutal was that enemy, the tormentor...a killer without a face
I broke the silence of our thoughts....”What time is your bus leaving?” I asked.
I have no bus to catch, nowhere to go.......
But I'll get there somehow...
I must see my surviving son, if he allows my wish to be fulfilled........
Then I w'll be on my journey to..........
Silence again …...deafening..... silence it was....
Impatiently, I asked “Journey to where?”.... To Hell, is all he said!
“Don't speak so desperately, Hell is for those without a soul. “ Said I.
That is why there I must go, I have been no good...........at all
A villian, ..... a thief, a robber..... I betrayed all my friends
And worse of all, I mistreated my wife and children …...
Left them for good to never return; now, I must my dues pay.
I deserve nothing, …...and I expect nothing. That is my story.
For the equivalent of a few dollars, I bought him a ticket to his destination
My bus arrived and we bid farewell........
And so it goes, a long............. long …..time ago, two travelers met at a cross road,
One of them selfishly went on his way, knowing how much more he could have done......
His choice, made him feel for ever after a lesser being.
E. G. FIALHO
Shawnee, OK.
April 9, 2016
Copyright © Ernandes Fialo | Year Posted 2016
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