In the gray sky morning,
With empty head
Going to buy some
Coffee, sugar, salt
toilet paper, soap
From the shop nearby
Looking to the wrinkled
Dark faces, closed hearts
Whispering thoughts,
Staying on the queue
Patiently waiting for
My turn, as in a train
Life is slow and fast
Sometimes running
Waiting for the bus,
Waiting the crowds,
Waiting silently your
Return home …
The usual lunatic
Crossing the streets,
Talking to themselves
With eyes, that cant see
The usual drunk driver,
The usual crumpled old,
The usual sweet child,
The usual birds in the air,
The usual newspaper man
The usual cherry seller
The usual emptiness and pain.
We run, drifting as
drops of reality,
while the sense
And angels are passing by us.
Our hands is full of illusion,
And our souls " hollow
Until the next morning
The life is gone…
Walking again and again
In my rainy sky blue dress,
Looking around, though
My head high in clouds,
I ask myself, in the surface
Of this repeated vanity,
Is that what we call
R e a l i t y?
© nina nour
--- June 014 --
