Crossroads Park

At a highway crossroads
Leading out of this City
There is a tiny little park
Where maidservants on their off day
go to meet their sweethearts.
Amidst the noise and dust
the fumes of the passing cars
the shrubs and trees
which might have otherwise been beautiful
are coated with thick dust.
Intimacy is brewed and thrives here
every sunny Sunday afternoon,
and one passes by without taking notice
only once in a while an estranged heart such as mine
stops to wonder with admiration
how this love thrives and holds its own
in this noisy, dusty and soulless city of ours.

The Apparition of Bookstore Isle

I saw a fair apparition

Standing on the bookstore isle

She was holding a book

That shone light on her face

Or her face shone light on the book

I couldn’t tell.

Her dress was an inverted floral globe

That glows in the dark

Her legs stuck out in style

With feet gathering pollens

Of fallen stars

Walking behind the shelves

Not to be seen

I peered through the stacks

Coming into the clearance

She was gone

And only the book remained

Lying on the floor

Lightless and base

Since then I have not departed

From these haunted isles

Day and night I scour these pages

Looking for the fair apparition

Many times I have called out

And tugged shoulders

But the people coming in and out

Seem not to hear or see me

A veil between two worlds  

Rivers flow back to your sources

Blades of the oars the currents beat back

Once again am counting my losses

For my hopes have missed their mark