Every day when I cross
the old man sitting in front of
a blue colored mud-shelter
and his unanswered awaiting eyes;
the farmer’s field spreading in rectangles
with emptiness all over it
and a few green pits of hope;
the escaped children from home,
running over the red soil
and the ringing of nearby school’s
bell;
the rows of eucalyptus trees
forced to be standing straight
with only one white bone;
a tilted signboard, painted in
unreadable fluorescent white,
and standing like a sleepless
mind;
five zones of the same city
parted by a few kilometers and
by the color of their houses;
the traffic with obvious congestion
and a warm dispute of dusty
weather
with the serenity of bearing
earth;
two queues of gigantic demons,
holding wires of some mega watts
in search of a lowering sun;
last, but not least of my journey,
including the other side of the bus,
while sitting next to the window;
I only count the slipping moments
and distances between you and me so
far,
with the ‘unwished wish’ of
forgettable you.
