A dreamer’s daydream..

Dreamers must dream For all life is sorrow From birth to death-

Such dreams continue And never cease to be Such were dreams to me

Was it sin to skulk like the western sun In the evening And before the endless night of realities?

Death descended down On this carcass of life.

When the sun came To a perfect still noon-

In my dreams I saw sun beams creeping through windows on a train moving through Europe- And as the railway shook our humble world I felt a soft hand warm and kind holding me just before the sun soared and I awoke.

by Abdel

An airport seems like a strange place to write about hope.

Or - maybe it isn’t.

What sparks us to travel, if not hope?

I can see trees at home - but they aren’t these trees.

our natural curiosity -

it may have been commodified and capitalised, but - its heart is pure.

we travel to discover -

A slightly different time, a slightly different place -