Alien

all alone
in a guestroom
at least I do not disturb

the merriment outside
what it must be like
to be understood

to be included
in a conversation
to be held

in esteem
not as the alien,
to be ushered

away; the outsider,
the gypsy,
the traveller

without whose instrument,
there is nothing to break
the silence;

but then,
a violin's note
filters through

and a flute's sound
pushes against air
to comfort

and long-forgotten,
long-suppressed
visions

enter one's mind
and the bells
start ringing

beckoning all,
an hour before
midnight