From a distance
I can hear him sighing
Watery eyes
Tears dripping down his cheeks.
An young lad that he is
Lost in a strange land
Lost from himself
Lost from his kith and kin.
Paths lead to more paths
Labyrinth that it is
But no goal at sight
He makes a goal on the path he stood
Toys of clay
That will wither to clay
One day
Knows that, he too
Yet it’s good to be busy
He thinks
All around he sees people
Busy in the game of existing
Willingly he participates, too
Yet in the din of silence
He can hear his lament
Pathos of pain
That stirs his soul
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