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Conjolted Poetry

Conjolted Poetry

Saturday, 12 April 2014

Down the street in slumber

"Honk! Honk!"
I tried to cross the street.
The roads were new to me,
like notes off a musical sheet.

The hooting and hollering,
second nature in this town.
The buildings and skirting-
different from my town.

I reached down the street,
and wide window frames,
encompassed big showrooms,
filled with skinny Caucasians..

A lady in a black dress,
fine as Kashmir silk,
ogled down at me
like an owl up a tree

I wondered,
if the man besides her-
was the one for her,
or if he even knew her.

I crossed the street,
buried my desires.
Ayeh my mind...
couldn't put it to sleep,

'til music started to sweep.
and knocked me off my feet
where was it coming from?
In a black block round the corner

I climbed the funnel'd stairs,
steep and cumbersome to leap,
I felt pity for the tiny girls in heels,
till they passed by saying things.

"He looks so tense,"
one of them said,
at the expense-
of my assumed dumbness,

But she lost her stance,
then tumbled down-
to the streets expanse, and
my mind did a little dance..

I reached the entrance,
stared at my self-
in the glass mirror,
and the words she spoke;
before me mirrored.

My empathy was renewed,
yet skewed a little too late,
I had no chance for me to glance-
in remorse over her failed stance.

I carried on to the first floor;
it was a music showroom,
so I stood where I could,
for it barely had room,

I caught a glimpse of the pianist,
but what caught my eye the most
was the beautiful brown artist-
her voice could make you cry...

So I stood there in awe,
till the end of my show...

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