Strangers meet at an airport
Lugging their own trolley bags,
Spilling its contents :
Butterflies they had caught,
Causes for which they’ve fought,
Epiphanies and reality checks,
The experiences of foreign treks;
The foot prints of all that they’d left behind,
Beliefs of the body, soul and mind.
Somewhere in the exchange,
The strangers are encased
In a hybrid bubble
with scents of both their lives :
They Blossom anew.