I feel a winter morning breeze,                                                       
se­nding the smell of percolating coffee and the buttery toast 
from the street vendors.

The cold wind hit my face

One.

Two..

Three…

I can no longer see,

I can no longer smell,

I can no longer hear,

But I feel tears in my eyes,

Then I fasten my steps,

Then I stop.

I stop in the middle of the street,
to look at this car that had a lonely look to it.

Are you lonely,
standing still alone at the empty parking lot
on a brutally cold day

Are you lonely
waiting for your man,
taking you to the road,

And you,
On a excursion to the world.


Why are you still here standing still,
like I am still standing still here,
far from my home,
alone,
living in this lonely, lonely world,
where everything is crammed by the influx of people
from all over the world,
hit, squeeze and hurt someone to survive,
in this congested island.

Why are you here standing still
And why am I here standing still

Yet,
gusty wind hits and hits and hits
hard, hardER and HARDER,
                                                         ­      
But I no more feel the cold,
I no more feel my body paralyzed,
and I,
no more,
I no more feel my eyes pouring the water out.

But I feel my heart lurching.
And my heart aches,                                                           ­           
whole day,
till the sun finally goes down.

Cling, Cling, Bam, Bam,
I squeeze my body into the rectangular car

Cling, Cling, Bam, Bam,
I can’t even breathe anymore
I have no where to escape.

Cling, Cling, Bam, Bam,
Cling, Cling, Bam, Bam,
I roll over my eyes
to the right
to the left
to the top
to the bottom

And still
I have no where to runaway.

…………….

No one speaks
No one moves
Not even the rectangular car that
has been absorbing itself into the labyrinth
the endless labyrinth

And I am thinking to myself

surrounded by complete strangers
smelling a white boy’s greasy blond hair that stuck in front of my face
feeling a Hispanic woman staring at me frowning
hearing a Black boy’s loud music screaming out of his I-pod
looking at an Asian woman’s New York Times
across the shoulder of an European guy who has been napping and snoring
reading the back page of the paper as she’s reading the front page, what is going on in this world

What am I doing here?

Abandoning all the sweet comforts in my home
studying other’s language
forgetting my language
appreciating other’s culture
ignoring my culture

And still

Feeling insecure, inferior and alone
and struggling, struggling and struggling.

What am I doing here?
Why am I here?
Why does my heart ache?

Cling, Cling, Bam, Bam,
Cling, Cling, Bam, Bam,

The rectangular car starts to march into the labyrinth again

And I,
I, too, march into the labyrinth
disguising myself as if I am one of them
pretending nothing happened in my mind
and again, hoping that I will become successful
here
one day

and starting my day again

As if I am one of them.