So last night on the way home, I walked the "old way". It's been months since I walked that path always busy with cars and trucks, always blaring with horns, always smoggy, always smelling like a room filled with toxins that can kill in seconds. But the beauty of it lies at nighttime when overhead one sees the trains come and go. On rare occasions one can chance upon two trains coming towards each other, meeting for a brief moment that it seems like they are exchanging quick hellos and goodbyes coz in less than a minute, they are separated again, going on separate ways and never looking back until the cycle repeats itself.
At dusk the final red of the day disappears slowly down the horizon. One eagerly searches for something celestial for a bit of poetry in a night that is soon to come. One looks up and finds the moon, still in its golden splendor despite being halved.
At dusk the final red of the day disappears slowly down the horizon. One eagerly searches for something celestial for a bit of poetry in a night that is soon to come. One looks up and finds the moon, still in its golden splendor despite being halved.
