The traveling souls around me act in unusual normality.
It’s three in the morning in this quiet airport bar.
the cold wind of London,
makes shiver bodies,
and let’s sweet hopes disappear.
It makes them simply fly away.
And in the dense darkness of the night,
you can see those metal tools that almost allow
the touching of the gold face of the moon.
A particular energy at this time of change.
And the pen that can’t stop.
Everyone is immersed in their own thoughts,
Everyone is directed to a different destination,
We find ourselves sharing the same moments of waiting.
companion of a life lost.
waiting to fly,
I look around me
that goes on almost in a static way.