Thursday, October 21, 2010

autumn dusks

Two blocks from our high street stands the casbah bar cafe,
where loiterers and some say illegal migrants puff at nargile in these cold autumn days.
Others, blinded by dusk and melancholy and other afflictions,
stand and smoke smuggled Russian cigarettes.
Some laze around on worn out chairs outside the cafe,
drinking coffee and listening to early Cohen.
At dusk all are equal so we think,
The resident poet, the illegal migrant or the affable conservative voter.
And yet each dusk is different and brings different pain.
We havent seen the well read girl
with long brown hair for weeks,
days are getting short and it will be winter soon.
I remember last winter,
when we met last and when you left.


Roxana said...

this is actually breathtaking.

Kubla Khan said...

if you think so! and coming from you the real poet, that is praise indeed. Roxana, i only write instinctively, my lines are in that sense reactive and emotive, though there are elements of truth too. the emotion is real, what is life without sentiment......the bar cafe is real, the people too......