The baggage we arrived with roots us,
We try to walk away, leave it behind,
Yet our wrists are handcuffed to the handles and,
The handles are made of thick solid steel,
The luggage weighs us down to the spot.
People on the platform hurry by and never seem to notice,
At least they never stop to ask why we’re standing here,
They’re too busy with their own concerns,
They push past us like we’re invisible, insignificant.
We watch the trains come and go, while over the speakers,
We hear destinations listed, platform numbers announced,
We watch the clock change at an alarming rate,
Day turns to night and the platform is a ghost town,
Still, we stand here hunched over our baggage.
Seasons change, and still, we’re stood in the self-same position,
Weather beaten, frozen in winter, blue from the cold,
Thawing out in spring, sunburnt in summer,
Collecting the shit of passing birds on our shoulders like statues of long dead heroes,
The only constant here is us.
We’re waiting here all this time for the keys to the handcuffs,
To set down our burden once and for all,
To wander free of this open prison of guilt, regret, and worry,
But our keys are in the suitcases we hold,
Locked under a combination code that we can’t crack.
We can’t remember how we made it to the platform in the first place,
The luggage is too big too heavy to shift on our own,
Did somebody help us? Can’t recall-
They must have grown tired of carrying our dead-weight,
If they left us here.
Why leave us on a platform?
With so many destinations to choose,
So many journeys we can’t make,
To watch other people, get on and off with ease,
Watching trains arrive and trains leave.
We never consider the content of the baggage,
Grows heavier the more we put it out of our mind,
Tears well up in our eyes, we ache from the burden of all this stillness,
A child passing on the platform loses hold of a balloon on a string,
All we can do is watch it drift away, weightlessly.