A busy week is behind me
each day slipping by, feeling weary
The man at the station, lost in a haze
Morning mist shrouding his gaze

Wrapped in his coat, alone in the crowd
A ghost of himself, silent and proud
During the week, he merely exists
A shadow of the one he truly enlists

Yearning for the end, for a moment of peace
To escape, to wander, to release
But then it begins anew, the cycle repeats
How does he endure, without defeat?

Human, but barely alive it seems
Trapped in a cycle of endless routines
Longing for a break, a chance to be free
To rediscover who he's meant to be.

Tomaž Jevšenak