Thursday, October 16, 2014

The sieve

In the hands of wind 
The train sways like a craddle 
All godspeed to sleep
It also turns to be a sieve
Filtering out the united smell 
of shit and cigarette. 
All is not lost while asleep
A layer of this journey is carried
to beds, to partners.
And a country unites in smell
Who's who nobody can tell.

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