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Dead Alive

images.jpeg-59We all die in someone’s story.

They mourn our death

While we pick eggs from the store

For tomorrow’s breakfast.

They long for us,

In autumn leaves,

Winter’s frost,

Summer’s bliss

And the promises of the Spring.

Yet when we come face to face,

On either side of the railway station,

they’d look beyond us,

The melancholy in their eyes would

Search in the train that

Came past several stations of self,

For a trace of a forgotten friend.

 

 

 

Picture: Saudade by Jose Ferraz de Almeida JĂșnior, 1899.

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