Sunday, 11 March 2018

It's 5am

It's 5am
and light has already
stretched across the plains of Kazakhstan.

I trip out a double bed I’ve shared with two
into a living room now furnished by a
chorus of rising snores
from a Kazakh, Uzbek and Russian circle
that’s brought me in.

Two are still awake
and we share a laugh about the night we’ve just
torn through.

Those that have crashed here,
who lie sleeping in this apartment,
are couch surfers, hitchhikers,
friends.

It’s like I’ve just stumbled through
my old sharehouse
—like we’ve all just made a night in Adelaide.

Sometimes,
the best thing about home
is feeling like you’re travelling
and the best thing about travelling
is being reminded
of home.







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