a september afternoon…

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she stood aloof watching the barrage
her lowered eyes hiding the glaze
the september sun toyed with her hair

the platform abuzz with all the crowd
nameless faces and bustling bodies
trains that came and went and carried along
lives & song and destinies all at once

he stood solid, sipping his tea
his mind alive with all that could be
his face a mask of urbane sanity

the scent of jasmine drew him in
as did her silhouette in chiffon
one look at her was all it took
to reign in thoughts of september, 2002

she boarded a train bound for west
he watched from afar, strangely bereft

meet me far…

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a look into the mirror
takes you back in time
when love was many a stolen glance
between puffs of winding smoke
when tea came cheap at two pence each
but to catch a glimpse of you, they came from far
when in between banter and many a verse
someone lost their nerve
while your smile was like the ode to joy

you sit now in quiet contemplation
writing a dispassionate prose
we are both past the age of poetry and till-now-forgotten loves, you see
you order two cups of tea
one for you
and one for me?

…the persistence of memory

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…it’s an old photograph tucked away in a myriad folds
and yet every once in a while she stares at the gurgling laughter
and the strength of the hold
…she recalls the love and the warmth of a home
much before the big world, swallowed her whole
….a solitary moment captured in a sepia print
from days long ago
….and now when the storms rage and sometimes when the lights wane
against the flicker of candle light
….arises a smile, reminiscent of the little girl
that she used to know

never let me go

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you and i, we’ve met before
before the winding alleys to my home changed
where daisies met every morning to greet the sun
and music wafted from the apartment above
the road where i walked to the bus stop and
stopped to chase the little ducklings along the way
you and i have met before
before i forgot the way to your home
the one that has that tea shop for four
and around the bend, waters blue
with doves so white and pristine true
we’ve been apart chasing dreams, some elusive, some real
but the moon’s been out each night, leaving a trail
you and i we’ve met before
I’ve just forgotten the way home.

the lovers, the dreamers & i

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An elegant kind of quietness arrives in no apparent hurry to be anywhere. I watch the narrative unfold, sometimes a stranger to those very pages whose sheaves provide the comfort of home. You, you sit facing a mirror, you love yourself so. Together, we are chess players waiting to make a move.

Somewhere a heart beat bubbling forth like cappuccino froth rises and seeks no more.