Here I am
sitting in this closed car
People brush past,
they don’t see me, or do they?
some who think its an empty car,
give it a casual nudge or a tap,
and move on…
Children in uniforms, men on their bikes, and drivers in their vans, everyone seems to be moving forward….
while I sit here, in the closed car, looking into the rear-view mirror…
I see men walk towards and past,
none like him, just men…
he will be here any moment
but there won’t be words nor glances, not even meaningless ones…
he will be here, but he won’t….
and even as he sits close beside me and drives on,
I will still be sitting in this closed car,
(This is a poem that a few moments of solitude this morning in my car brought me to write. And the song playing in the background directed the flow of words. I, just did the typing.)