Monday, June 29, 2009

The Wait.

Lights lit up the dark street,

Throwing shadows far and long,

Across dark pavements that

Led people endlessly through

This urban maze.

Cracked, dry cement crunches

Under tires of passing vehicles,

Moths buzz up at streetlights

Lonely and lifeless.

Somewhere down the bend

In a small tea shop

I might find solace

IN a hot cup of sweet tea

Swirled amidst fumes of

Burnt filter cigarettes,

Sometimes I find it strange

To strain my ears to hear

That unique sound of silence,

Between intervals of passing cars.

Till the time that the night sets

And dawn stands on the threshold,

The silence will hold;

Then with the first chirp of orange skies

A flame would rise up

Through the empty blackness

Lighting up tired eyes,

And the mountains come peeping shyly,

Staring at a wide awake world;

Just a moment before the cacophony

As though living in a dream

That lasts longer than the sleep;

Only empty memories float,

Ghosts of an invisible spectre

That continue to haunt

After passing on,

Blinds are thrown apart,

Coffee steamed up

And gulped in sugarless draughts,

Speeding feet kick up dust

And skim off morning dew,

The rush begins again.

I can see the heads hang on

To a tin centipede,

As I walk back home.

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