Amid figures, rushing
towards a dream
or away from nightmare
in a city where stars don't shine
they hide behind
rough, cold, air.
An hour passes
only engines rattle
and lights flicker
but this is the most remembered, honored time
because,
we are going somewhere
Touching and never taking
stopping, only to start again
and never settling, for anything but
the destination.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem