I wonder when the day will come,
The day when I will be that weathered old man
Standing and staring at the traffic
Almost as if to say,
This is enough for me
I’mma stand here and watch the rest of you mugs run
You’ll all stop eventually
But fresh ones will keep coming
Keep on running
Pretending we have somewhere to be
As though the circles we run will set us free
No thanks youngun, this is far enough for me
Peace and love ✌🏽
Perched in the rafters of Waterloo station
Watching the show unfold
A production of epic proportions
Stage left, right, north, south, it’s a free for all!
Some seem to know their lines, others a little lost
Missing their cues, they beg the departure board for clues
Every direction, every face, invites indulgence in sonder
Who are they? Where are they going?
Infinite stories unfolding
Impossible to know
How unsatisfying
In the midst of this choreographed chaos,
Under the disembodied – allegedly iconic – clock, two bodies meet
Greeting with a kiss, a quip and slightly averted glances
Nervous and slightly breathless
A new romance
About to leave the station
Godspeed to you
To the naked eye, it’s an empty chair
Off white or weathered, maybe
Whether it is or isn’t is moot
The conversation I’m having with it is still a hoot
Or should I say, the face I see
The voice I hear
Between the waves crashing off the promenade
And the murmurings of other guests
It really is a busy night for dining
The bustle and the humidity
This table is a small sanctuary
Still, the clinking and drinking is causing such a din
I wish they’d hush so I could hear you better
Would it be rude for me to shush them?
Maybe confusing
Yeah, perhaps I shouldn’t
Let’s not indulge the delusion
You’re in my ear
For once I’ll say, speak louder so I can hear
First time for everything
I wonder what you’re saying
There’s a sarcastic twinkle in your eye
Don’t deny it, I can see
What is it you find so funny?
Okay, fine, I’ll stop hassling, let’s eat…
But when I look back to catch you off-guard
It’s the off white chair looking back
Slightly weathered, maybe
I forgot it was empty
I forgot I was…
There’s no…
It’s just me
Today our threads weave a tapestry,
Tomorrow, those same threads may fray
We cannot lift the future’s veil,
Nor embrace shadows of yesterday
Today is where we will be,
Where our story will be woven
So dance with me and sing full voice!
For tomorrow will remain unspoken…
Standing before the Notre-Dame,
Marveling at its resurrection,
Risen again, it stands anew, with disjointed imperfection.
The old and new bond at the cracks,
Befitting, one could say,
Its old resident – the hunchback.
I guess it is perception and belief
That can make joy of grief—
From faded façades to restored reliefs,
To the roof tiles above and ceilings beneath.
I marveled at this fallen cathedral,
Once again standing tall,
Though I wish I hadn’t noticed one thing:
The solitary shadow gazing back from the walls.
Through the needle your story is woven
Not a sound is heard yet your story is spoken
The threads tell tales of your joys and pains..how sad is it then that through all of this; the silence between us remains unbroken
What do you know of I and I of you?
Perhaps the silence keeps us honest
When your eyes look into mine
All we can share are our truths
In the city of lights where nothing is seen
Between the dust and the horns, the noise and the blinkers
No-one looks at each other with eyes of compassion
Hardened by the status quo of dog eat dog
Right and wrong etched into stone for all of time
We are one and they are the other
Humanity on our side and servitude for our brothers
Borrowing styles of former masters
Beating ourselves with the canes they left behind
Compassion at a premium, empathy a luxury not worth pursuing
‘If not us then someone else’,
Says the next door neighbour, in futile justification of a jurisprudence seeking to maintain a power-balance with the weights clearly on a single end of the scales.
Heavy pockets, heavy bodies but light of heart
There are no lights in the city of lights
Only fireflies lost in the dust
Burning one another in the hopes of finding the moon alone
We, the 1st batallion of decadence walked in your path.
Forged through kinship among scarlett tears; laid on foundations of fallen brothers.
Across this slumbering beast, above the surging kwai.
Suffering from intoxication. We the 1st batallion of decadence, meandered in your path.
Atop this iron giant, where once our fathers stood.
Astride the mighty kwai, that once our fathers feared.
We, the first batallion of decadence, marched in the shadow of your sacrifice.
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