The bus broke midway
nowhere,
nothingness,
the smell of the barren land.
Going somewhere is losing somewhere too…
and with all the involvements of mutual orders,
I stood there
looking at the direction where the road disappeared beyond the stone walls.
The music must be in the process of courage to forget something
and making a new one to remember.
We think we are the void of a generation
but we have given the most unpretentious words to a culture which was aging in its ways of acceptance.
The evening mist and those red lights in a procession,
the air was heavy,
the smoke was frozen
the valley accompanied with the isolation of thousand stars.
When the bus got ready and everyone went home,
did I get everything back or I left something there without knowing where it belonged?

…………………………………………………………….

Photograph: Royce Bair.