Where
Does the echo
Come from
And
Where
Does it go?

The sound of feet is isolated in the tunnel.
Echoes of the slow steps of many fill the narrow space.
We march in silence.
Alone among the many.
We do this odd ambitious walk twice daily.
Twice daily this space is filled with the sound of the travelers and the workers.
And what about the times that betwixt the twice daily commute?
An ambiance like no other.
A roaring silence.
For those who have march here
They leave behind an echo,
an imprint of sort.
More ghostly than any ghost.
Haunting these tunnels with their essence
When the sound of feet is not present.

We all know that
Death
is inevitable.
And somehow it
always
comes as a surprise.
Prayers in whispers
echo
among lonely halls,
as if mocking our
mortality