I have lived many lives,
and they return
everywhere I go.
I get lost inside them.
I am real
says the woman
who neither smiles or frowns.
She has appeared several times,
always in a dream,
and I beg her to stay,
and she goes.
But where?
And the roads and houses,
unoccupied,
voices sing in the dark
when I’m not listening.
Or the timeless avenue of children,
who play and run
and call me,
return,
where are you going?
And my heart hurts with pain.
Somewhere,
I reply without sound.
I am caught in time and meaning.
Should I stay?
I look into a mirror and ask,
should I have stayed?
Where was I going?
And life resumes.
My friends bridge no nonsense,
and are not crazy. They
do not know how life
plays hide and seek,
blurs at the edges,
falls in love with strangers,
avoids temples and churches.
It goes on.
I have lived before,
and currently occupy several places,
wanting something,
or someone,
to hold my hand,
and tell me where is home.