That walk ended in familiarity
(A cigarette for you madam?)
We entered the entrails
of the city, here
the narrow alleyways
clasp close the vinyl records
of yesteryears.
Traipsing
over cobblestones
in this summer heat,
all I wanted
was vocabulary.
Soon, I’d hunger
for apt verses
to lock in such an afternoon.
(And I needed a bit of rhyme
for lines one could sing.)
I have stopped penning
poetry, you know.
Everytime I write
I peel you apart.
Naked outlandish eyes
skim through you
with every ink scrawl.
Yet, one must make
some space
to hold in the last hours
of daylight.
5 comments:
In the beginning there was the word,
Bare and minimalist
Echoing a thought.
Maybe the thought will fade away
Like they generally do,
lost among the myriad of other thoughts.
the word will still remain.....
These are every poet's words. Me likes 'em and feels 'em too.
Though I didn't really get the picture the poem tried to convey in the first two stanzas,......I liked these two most
"I have stopped penning
poetry, you know.
Everytime I write
I peel you apart.
Naked outlandish eyes
skim through you
with every ink scrawl.
Yet, one must make
some space
to hold in the last hours
of daylight."
Poetry - the most beautiful keepsake simply because of its subjectivity. And rarity.
...when you need to breathe in yesterday all over again. what better keepsake could one ask for? :)
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