I hurt from the other side aswell
The pained heavy luggage I carry
Dragging over dusty tracks
With clanks,
And the mailtrain whistles its warning.

I wonder, while tasting last night’s fog in the air
For the hundreth time
At the darkness that is sure to come
After my forehead touches the tracks
And my body lays mangled.
I long for it in the bones, briefly tracing the eratic flight of a yellow moth
Do animals feel suicidal?

The suitcase chained to my feet
Drags around with the same unsteady clang
Desolation wrapped around me
A tattered shawl.
The whistle is closer.

It pierces the silence of the world
Half asleep, mute in its glory
As the cup of gold paint tips over
Seeping into the clouds
Veined with orange.
The breeze sings in my hair
Skin on my face tugging as my eyes sting
With the salt of tear tracks etched onto my face.

The train whistles louder, the tracks reverbrating
The stone chips bouncing onto the planks
For a second I pause.

The train comes thundering in
With its heavy letters of love, loss and hope
Parcels of humanity careening towards me wrapped in a frightening armour of steel
Fear, foreign, liquid courses through me and
I step out of the tracks just
Till the baggage chain snags onto
The line
Yanking me back,

The train shudders at the impact as it catches the chain,
Flattens my suitcase
And leaves a gash on my ankle
Bleeding, scarred

I watch the yellow moth hovering still,
The steel rails still humming with the trains song
I breathe in the bitter air,


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