MusingsPoetry

Commuters

In the subway,
boisterous feet meet…
walking and waiting in different directions…

Chatting and clattering, ready to board.
For a minute none wanted to leave…
then the breeze of departure.

All gaze through the window,
staring at nothing in particular…
The day is gone from finishing,
another story for the servants.

Work,
a split of work…
happily done with peanuts.
Volunteers,
also a servant?
found sitting akin to go.

Where did they go to?
The driver did not know…
to the museum of laziness, an office…
or to the shrine painted with labor.

At eventide, all came back,
to the subway where feet met at dawn.
Eyes weakened, voice cracking;
One said, “Home calls.”

Wheels on, none spoke.
Silence is a prince among them.
One by one, they left…
to continue another cycle.

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