The late express dips
Into station tranquility.
The passengers are silent
In their awake mobility.
How still and tense it is!
There is no going away.
My soul is restless
In its dissonant way.
It’s wandering around
As a wounded beast
Through the sleepless night
Half alive at least!
It’s screaming for a touch
With the intimate souls,
But the people look busy
As paper mache dolls!
The night is ahead
In the travelling car
That carries me away
Trough the dusk so far!
The Late Express
© Copyright: Сергей Акимов 5, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125110408349
Свидетельство о публикации №125110408349
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