Strange places next to home

Certain days demands escapes to a different city

Another place to put the restless mind and body

I choose the workers city south of home

A dirty place with a huge highway in the middle

In order to keep the workers mind focused

on work

The gigant harbour filled with containers and cars

The factory making trucks and the factory making medicine

To drug the world and make life filled with pills of different color

I love that place, poor people from all over the world come here

To seek the true unhappiness in a life filled with thing and matter

Are they happy, happier or just busy making a living

I do not know and I am not going to ask them

I let them get on with their life and feel happy that this

is not my home but a lush green place that is ok for a day or two

or more, enjoying the serene feeling of being a stranger in a land

That never been mine

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About

I am who I was when I wrote this text but I do not know if I exist now. I am from Scandinavia where the arctic starts

Tagged with: , , , , , , , , , , ,
Posted in change, immigration, Poem, Poems, Poetry, The city, The working city

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