The late night prayer

Perhaps this was
the truest form of freedom.

Accompanied by the loud noise of the train
an old lady sang, making everyone look and wonder.

heavy from her grocery bags
and the years of hard work and sorrow

The train wasn’t loud enough to silence
this woman’s confident melody.

 Not loud enough to prevent her languid voice from reaching the passerby’s ears and souls,
forcing them to turn their haunted heads around,

searching for the source of this decontextualized sound
during their normally silent commute home.

Through her voice, you could almost visualize the vibrations propelling through the air
carrying a strong melancholy, only overcome by a stronger scent of hope.

Hope for the hard day to end,
for the next one to treat her better

hoping that God doesn’t turn His back on her
praying for the continuation of their holy friendship.

Suddenly, my ever dormant spirituality erupts.
and I too start asking for hope… I need it.

Asking that Her bags turn lighter, and for Her back
Never to be left alone.