I do not have dreams
of car rides now
and friends driving
while I sleep journeying
to halfways, u-turns and dead-ends
near home yet far from comfort.
But I still take naps
on the way home
waking up to faces
of strangers driving for money --
their towels hanging
from their necks
adding more tiredness
to hectic afternoons.
These do not surprise me now
the way greeting cards do
on occasions we no longer wait for.
My sight has been conditioned
to not seeing friends
on the driver's seat
and impatient hitchers
rubbing bodies at the backseat --
just the usual bottleneck traffic
going to the same direction
or missing the same landmark --
our sense of belongingness
fading then gone.
I am now used
to getting on cabs
that do not offer gums
to sweeten
the drying edges of my lips
nor tissue to wipe
the smudge of guilt
in the corners of my mouth.
I am now used to keeping silent
and looking through
the darkened window
making afternoons
seem like midnight,
and mornings too cloudy
for waking up --
my eyes heavier
with each turn of the stirring wheel
and each push of the gear stick
bringing me back
to where I came from.
There are no laughters anymore,
no stories to tell frowning seatmates
that are neighbors
in a village of indifference,
no last-song-syndrome music
we keep humming
to ourselves inviting sleep.
There are just blue vans
with yellow plates
and white untinted cars
pulling away from halfways, u-turns
and dead-ends near home
yet still far from comfort.
