Subway Poem

As the train rolls
into the sleepy station
late like any other day,
I find myself thinking
about the sense of human actions

I sit and watch them
for they want to be judged
or else wouldn't exist
but in their dreams of a world
that never spins

Ruins of bright days
are left behind
for rats and weeds
to settle down and build
golden bridges and cranes

Faces like shoe-boxes
filled with worries and pain
lay one onto the other,
eternally stuck
in a dance of empty looks

Ear-plugged
scarfed up
lidded men
wonder of bikinis
and new lipsticks to embrace
somewhere, somehow

A neat-head girl reads
of other people's
joy and misfortune,
for she's busy,
so busy,
too busy to live

The wrinkled one
watches the decay
but never blinks;
nothing is new
but a few more wrinkles

And the rambling
restless kids
still questioning the world
look for some fun
and surely find it
as they heavily step on my tired toe

And me, proudly contemplating
the still life of stinky wax statues
breathing on my neck,
I finally find two shiny eyes

They noticed me
and now stare at me
they try to dig me
and know me better

They come from the outer world
behind-the-glass world
other-than-me world

They came and judged me
and then they left

And I can see myself, once again,
mirrored in the window