Friday, August 14, 2015

Moving

It is that time of the year.
Boxes around, passport out, baggage allowance restrictions....

A damp morning outside.
These flights which move from here to there to here to there
Crowds, mountains, blue berries, traffic jams, swearing.

What to remember? What to forget?
We who put our tents about like just anywhere
Every conversation a fleeting wind
Every moment another encumbrance to bubble wrap

One can carry only so much
Each port has its way of dealing with your baggage
Bubble wrapped insecurities will break open
Under the warm tropical sun
Chilly mornings in another continent will
Freeze tears into tiny invisible cubes

As I float one more broken bit in the river
Water takes something away and leaves something behind
The reflection who stares at you from it is someone different.

On these long journeys from here to there to here to there
The wind will change the way you move
The roads will leave their mark on your feet
And on that occasional moments when a different person
Stares from the mirror; try to smile

When the sights from the window seat get repetitive
It might help to look at them with a different set of eyes





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