I am a rail passenger,
hours spent in motion by the side of people whose language I don’t understand,
never seeing a familiar face.

Every day someone whispers something behind their hand
and I wish that I could say:
“If you are ever our guest,
we won’t stiffen at the sight of you,
won’t whisper behind our hands,
we’ll pass by with nothing but a smile.”

Oh, I wish I knew your thoughts,
wish you knew how hard it is to get on,
with the last air in my lungs, in a realm,
where even the wind isn’t on my side.