waiting for the train.
behind me are people
some are innocent
some are filthy
some do not know which path to take.
i try to observe them
try to read their thoughts
by the sadness of their eyes
blank stares on the mirrors
conversations with the nonchalant air
trying to figure out what’s the point
maybe that’s what my eyes are telling me.
because maybe some of them are trying discreetly
to read my eyes too
and figured out i’m also
just a part of the crowd
that seems to be an everyday routine