Not here, though
The thought of it will come again
But hear ye,
The next life is waiting, it awaits
With empty bags on an undocked ship
And a fistful of longing,
Asks:
After how many voyages
Will the foreigner
Go without luggage
Before help could come,
In how many places
Has my friend
Wandered aimlessly
Before life could find him.
Says:
Like you, I did not exist either
Not here, though
The want of it might return.