Nomads

By Michael Sixto

Mindfulness

We vanished together under the conspicuous sun. The homeless person right next to us asked about poetry and distant places. We had no time to answer. The path was opening right in front of our eyes sucking everything at once. We felt so lucky of being the chosen ones that we cried. For a whole hour we waited and waited while the others passed us by with fear in their senses. This was the final judgement day that for centuries many anticipated.  And the last second came and we died. The vagrant person had his answer… and he was no longer homeless ever again.

 

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