Notes from a far country

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It’s a journey all right, some journey,

be it tiring or inspiring.

Are we frozen, are we chosen,

are we scary or neurotic,

are we wary, idiotic,

are we pure or insecure,

are we searching for a cure,

or are we warm and sunlit,

glowing in our knowing?

Yet it seems as if all of us are here

on some road or other,

the human crowd.

We’re the human crowd

on a crowded road.

That bunch, this bunch,

strange bunch we are,

infamous or famous,

or nameless or priceless,

tough or rough,

or sainted or tainted.

And I have a hunch

that our human bunch

is going to be OK in some way.

The human crowd

I celebrate us aloud.

I’m optimistic, unrealistic,

futuristic, idealistic

and yet I love the human bunch.

I think I’ll trust my hunch.

We’re born to die, we walk on by,

embrace or kill,

we’re well, we’re ill,

we kiss, find bliss.

But I’m sure we’re all on

some road or other,

The human crowd

on a crowded road.

It’s a journey all right, some journey.

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