Where are the birds?
The forest is voiceless
It resonates with the blankness
Of my empty mind
Where's the sun ?
The light has gone
From my shining eyes.
We are all passengers
In that crowded waiting room
Which is called life
Awaiting for that last transport
To the otherworld.
For each incoming transporter
Numbers are called up
Lucky or not to go away
We won't know for sure
Until we are onboard
For the rest of us
We are still waiting.
Lucette C. Bailliet
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