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April 13, 2018

Always running,

And late.

Await the signal,

Risk to see who?

Who knows,

It’s always difficult.

Terribly difficult,

To find a place:

Places are abundant,

But where for the bags?


They’ve adopted our language,

Outside, we wear scarves.

In the train, it’s too warm,

The time of departure means little.

Son, much to say to mother,

It’s touching to see.

One day, mother will come,

So she says ….

It’s slightly too far,

She’ll be here soon.


The seat is for sitting,

It’s not for storing bags.

A wise young lass knew this,

She took her place.

In skirt and all, she took it,

Mother and son, changing places.


I’ve no desire to travel,

Not today: there’s little there.

Not for me. The trains wait in place,

Sadly, they don’t move ….

Bitter faces, unaccepting,

Stationary trains bring bitter faces.

But, we’re happy, for before us:

Skirt and stockings.

Much preferable to lonesome luggage,

The lonesome luggage of gypsies.

Lonesome gypsies. Homeless gypsies,

Always moving, these homeless gypsies.


Will it be today, or will it be tomorrow?

Now, I’m inspired by skirt and stockings.

And serious, quiet voice,

Here, I’m painting a portrait:

A most beautiful portrait,

We work for obligations, and pleasures.

We speak of modern operandi,

And hearts next to loving names.


Here, Arabic joins the native tongue,

Long journeys. Remove your shoes.

Or not. I remain professional and all,

They look closely at my drugs.

Psychotropic, not. Tranquillising, yes,

It’s good to keep the native tongue.

For usually we don’t wish its death,

And home, what now? Laundry.

Put affairs in order, etc,

Awaiting judgements, for good.

Final judgement: death sentence,

The route home seems longer.


Speaking of origins,

She in skirt etc shares them.

The origins of species, etc,

The communist manifesto, etc.

Change here or else hold tight,

To your bags or else they’re missing.

Next stop: so long skirt etc,

Arabic tongue etc.

I wait to rest,

A long conversation, ceased.

We all descend here,

For one sole purpose:

It’s flawed. They mock,

Not knowing the ramifications.

Or the sentiments it brings,

Why one day and not another?


Today, we wait,

Some stand longer.

They’re weakened,

We’re in place.

A bag in place,

He never learns.

Taking three places,

I knew his kind.

In a former life,

Was it a good life?

I was weary of it,

All seemed the same.

Always, the same,

Now, it’s quiet evenings.

No more of this type,

Who seek rebellion falsely.

Hold your three places if needed,

But perhaps they’re not.

What a fool,

Looking up at every stop.

I’m glad I bothered him,

For he is, largely, a bother.


Again, we roll,

Not long after the fact.

If it’s quiet, we’re fine,

Which front? History’s front.

Some know not how to speak

At modest volumes and such.

Some speak without knowing,

Some are incapable of knowing.

Some are fools in joker’s jackets,

Some know not their way.

It’s simple, if we look,

Turn around. It’s simple.

It’s a greater task to turn,

But they turn. I care little.

I care not, no more,

And, I’m right! Now, they respond!

But, there’s not always ease:

Today was hard.

Some are stressed by new surrounds ….

By finding new surrounds.


They’re together. They stop,

They’re in awkward silence.

Friends, maybe not,

It will all grow …. without me.


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