Old man lost in the catacombs of the underground metro train
Checkered blue shirt, thick framed glasses and chill blains
lower lip trembling in this big bulging city, mouths move fast
Side walk cops inspect us green eyes stuck into the head like plaster
convincing themselves the city is a ship, and they the masts
The wrinkles in his shirt and the wrinkles life years give grace to
The grey pavement same color as the sun in his face
He needs guidance and hope across the uncertain city´s brace
The world doesn´t revise his habits and memories under greying hair
the streets don´t remember his footsteps or his cares
The multitudes of human traffic don´t sense his fear
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