Crossing the highway
I've dived into every ocean and fallen from every sky,
I've been to hundreds of continents, and wouldn't count the countries,
I scarred the face of the planet with a helix of dirty tracks.
I've even visited elves at their iridescent homeland.
There is one terra incognita, where the grass is greener,
But it lays on the other side of a mighty incessant highway.
I don't know who built it, and it's probably best this way.
My sight bypasses the windshields for fear of seeing the drivers.
I'm looking for a flyover, not the ultimate truth.
All i need is a tiny path across, however ethereal,
But the highway is wider than Styx and flimsier than Bifröst,
Its very existence claims: sometimes there is no solution.
And so i stand there, frozen, watch this jumble of headlights,
Blinding me, always shifting, like a crawling constellation,
Portending at once an infinite number of chilly fates.
Even a master of weaving his humble tottering beelines
Amidst the vectors of bikes on the crazy streets of Hanoi
Faces imminent death when trying to cross the highway...
