At the end of the day

At the end of the day
we pick up the splinters of our lives
to sum up where the journey has begun/stopped:
how we must move on, or not;
how the heart must beat again, or not;
how we must walk the walk
& down the crooked roads always taken;
how we must bid hello/goodbye
at the infinite bus stations;
how we must repeat ourselves
like an old gramophone of familiar tunes –
how in our own human way
we’ve tried to change the banality of things…
At the end of the journey,
if ever it ends, we look with disbelief
at the relics of time:
faces of faces, kisses of kisses,
voices of voices that wake up from the abyss
& remnants of ourselves
we barely recognize, if at all.
At the end of the day
that blurs into another day…

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