I wrote a poem once sitting on the station watching a crowded train full of people go by. Today I had a deja vu of that moment, as I was thinking about climate change and people living in “ignorance is bliss” like Switch off The Matrix. I re-wrote my poem.


I drift behind eyelids to a landscape beyond surreal.
Somewhere parrallel, in the underground of nerves, real and unreal dissolving.
Blanketed in transparency, passengers sit on moving trains; inside is still and unmoving.
Makes wide-eyed passengers sit and let themselves be taken into oblivion,
Not even trying to force the seemingly immovable doors.
Their faces squashed against the windows; distorted, disturbed.
Looking out at me staring, their teardrops about to let go of rusting faucets.
Licorice straps of tracks melt a single collective track, destination set.
My silhouette against a platform of graffiti shadows speaks from a different kind of clarity and disorder.
Breathed upon their world, I am a rock in their shoe, a speed bump in the road.
I am sighed by passengers going by, but a breath of fresh air to those who alight and look me in the eye.