Stranger, if you passing meet me and desire to speak to me,
why should you not speak to me?
And why should I not speak to you?
- Walt Whitman
Nowadays, the streets are cold.
Callus fingers, callous people.
We take steps with music in our ears,
And mind not here.
My Destination.
Wary of privacy, the politically correct.
Stories lost across our glances,
Silence on the streets.
No comments:
Post a Comment