Monday, 23 March 2015

Yet it is Nowhere but Here

There she is...
As the train rumbles on,
mesmeric lights and stoic buildings
rise from the landscape.
To what do I owe this longing,
this love?
the particular formation
of streets against trees
against parks against streams?
Or music... the aural pleasures?
The whistlings birds and
whistling neighbours?
No... is it the peoples,
the familiar race we call Other?
Those who cause us suffering but
so much else besides?
I think that might be it...
This could be anywhere.