This City
This alien city, its unknown people,
Serpentine alleys, clamouring roads,
Exhausting traffic in the rush to make it.
No leafy shades nor the free run of kids;
No lazy walks nor any pauses to breathe.
Digging through this hopeless mire,
I seek a handful of fertile earth;
Amidst the indifferent crowds
An acknowledging laughter;
Among those ruthless back alleys
A loving foot path;
And for this breathless wheezing life
One final tranquil breath.
Out of the proverbial blue then
Emerged a few rain clouds,
The wind, heady with petrichor
Danced to the tunes of twirling leaves,
The earth bathed in sweet showers, while
The kids played with innocent abandon.
A rustle in this reverie, and
My eyes flickered open.
Through the hazes of sleep
They spied a blushing moon,
Smiling drowsy from behind
Inky silken clouds.
With a loving scratch to my beard
She asked- “Tea or Coffee?”
Now this city too seems my own,
Its people my own too.
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Comments
A narrative delicately and elegantly spun.
It really is all about finding that one person (or thing?) to give you a sense of place and belonging; your sine qua non, if you will. An anchor. A harbour...in all storms.
A beautiful read...as always.
J ;)
Shukriya so very much Jason!
You indeed caught the nerve of the poem. :)