Past midnight, the birds have fallen silent

but the cars keep roaring through the night

singing about civilization and the

straight lines it draws through the land.

It goes on, that song of asphalt, as

the metal frames whisk flesh, bone and

blood from one place to another without

relieving them of the emptiness

and longing they carry in their minds.

A bird is happy where it is, perching on

a branch in the dark, a human being is restless

in her or his metal cage, going through the

radio stations in search of nostalgia and hope,

on that straight line drawn from one place

to another, from birth to death.

31.05.2013