by Yehuda Amichai

For every man in a rage there are always
two or three back-patters who will calm him,
for every weeper, many more tear-wipers,
for every happy man, plenty of sad ones
who want to warm themselves at his happiness.

And every night at least one man
can’t find his way home
or his home has moved to another place
and he runs around in the streets,

Once I was waiting with my little son at the station
as an empty bus went by. My son said:
“Look, a bus full of empty people.”

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