All the places that we don’t halt at,
doesn’t seem to be a part of our story.
The road that had the dogs
howling at 01:00 AM.
The underpass that served as a bed for many.
The market that had more people than it could take.
that no longer lit.
The windows you pass by…
some with curtains,
with a glimpse of unknown
life inside them.
and the crossway, you know,
you’ll never stand at,
only pass by.
all the places that we don’t halt at
doesn’t seem to be a part of our story
no, not until the tyres screech,
the silent movie through the window
and the man who just stood at the road
a few minutes ago
becomes very very real
now his stare
lasts for more than a second,