Sounds of some sad steps, somewhere on the sixth floor
A lot closer, a toilet flash and a baby’s cry
Somebody just slammed a door
So that nothing may be new beneath the sky…
Sleepy walks, shy whistlers, dead traffic lights
Honking horns, sidewalks, some gone astray dew,
A street sweeper smiles as she cleans the sights
Of that old yawning moon… the day is new…
As I walk alone, carving the streets on my palms
Smelling the fresh fumes and diesel fuel
I feel like laughing and jumping, reciting the Psalms
I wear this city, brothers, this is my jewel…
But as I move in prayers to start the day afresh
I see the city flowing to wash away my flesh!
Slavomir Almajan's Blog 