Turn at the corner of intersecting streets.
There are lightposts to illuminate the dark,
your perseverance,
and a blanket of night punctured with stars.
Shun the tricycles, however silently convincing
they tell your destination is
farther than it is near.
Trust your feet more and the rope of words
you now read.
You can count your steps or measure your breath:
either way you'll find my place.
My place is gray, a facade forlorn
than the dead rivulet flowing behind
nameless, inconsequential.
I tell you where I am now because
nobody wants to be forgotten.
My mistake is a 10 year limbo that is adding more years.
If you find yourself deaf between claps
and chants of your name,
remember a man engrossed with his shadows
and pray he has moved to another place.
No comments:
Post a Comment