Behind the face of the man on the train,
Is a story of a passing wife, a dying cat and a bad day.
A multitude of color hidden behind the cover known as stranger.
Oh, I don’t know him, her, it.
It’s not your fault says the man, he smiles, you are simply blind.
He removes his face;
a dead wife gives her greetings,
a cat purrs with the warmth of summer
and the pain of a bad day is spared half a life.
Suddenly Mr stranger become known
But I am still blind.
Blind to the infinite lives that surround me.