Contemplation

I stare from inside my car,
At the pedestrians walking in the cold,
Or pedaling through the tunnels’ dust.
I ponder in silence,
About my life in China.
Concluding… I don’t exist on their plane.

This window that blocks the cold,
And the dust.
This window that allows me silence,
Makes me an Outsider in China.
I’m as far away as a plane,
In the sky, while I sit in my car.

If I were to touch those specks of dust,
Unroll the window and break this melancholy silence,
Why, it would change my whole view of China!
No longer would I need to squint from a plane,
Or from behind the tinted window of my car.
I’d be face-to-face with the cold.

But I feel as if I need that silence,
To keep my peace of mind in China.
I need to be able to fly off in a plane,
Or drive away in a car.
Away from the cold,
Away from the dust.

I ponder some more about China.
What if the safety in this plane,
Or the warmth in this car,
Is as fake as the outside cold?
As blinding as the outside dust?
For too long, I’ve been kept by Silence.

Alright, so I’m getting off of this plane.
Heck, I’m jumping out of my car,
Gonna stay awhile in the cold.
Bite the dust --
If I must, and gnaw at Silence,
Until I hear the voice of China.

Hmm...surely the cold was in my car?
The dust in the plane?
Because They and Silence do not exist here in China.