THE WAY OUT

To go out
To get out from here
Where the walls stand heavy on your heart
To finish the ink in a pen
Writing
To have asked for another peg
And to wait
Where hope is liquid fire
Not to have stopped
Sometimes not to know the street that you take
But move on
The missed street, town, sign ,cipher
To hear the phone ringing
On the other side
Sometimes to know that it
May not be picked up
And yet to call..

The way out
That still seems far off
That still is a  way
Into something, someplace
The irresqueable torrent of sweat
The phones broken touch screen
The way out
A conversation with the unknown
Meaningfulness of the meaningless and absurd
The cycle that you need to push uphill
To enjoy the ride down hill
Our tryst with the local Sisyphus,
Sometimes meeting him in the mirror
Sometimes elsewhere.

But the journey out
As Kafka quipped
Is still the only way
That has been reiterated
And confirmed endlessly
Even in this very instant.