I met a chap
Who took a nap
Against me as we rode
The second train,
As roads will drain
Our will to bear the load.
I did not know him.
Chances were slim
That our paths should cross
For his spine
Was shaped like mine,
A vine gnarled with loss.
His eyes were shut;
That did not cut
From me this sudden trance
Because his feet,
Likewise, were beat
From stepping stones to dance.
And how his hands drew
Déjà vu
From my own distant past
The nails coarse
With pained remorse;
The lifeline treads were vast.
Soon he stood,
His legs like wood
From dreaming he could fly
He shook his head,
Laughed and said:
'To greet, or bid goodbye! '
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem