Transit

I don’t need to fly
Customs through customs
has tired my bloodshot eyes,
In transit, at home
what can replace
a grandmothers hug?
which envelops in warmth
and in that is hope
But in transit, like home
under siege
by the brands
who on tanks crash forth

then suspended in mid-air
like in Bach timeless
for a moment
to glide through
painful time.

I don’t want to leave
no need to fly
uncontrolled tear streams
supplied by a life
at the ocean

and here I sit, in transit
with her wisdoms shoulder
the only warmth
like home

In Sydney Airport 19/09/11

 

 

Copyright Vladimir Fanshil © 2017