It’s luster in a storm to be honest; this city
with its highs and lows 
bathed in orange and mauve– 
one can almost capture the stillness 
of night in a poem, 
taste the gentle moonlight  
that whispers soft against the skin. 
Poets have an ongoing affair with romanticism.  

The city awakens to pulsating rhythm  
of the ocean and tumult of engine, 
as day breaks, 
and wind is laced with fragrance of dry fruit 
and etiquettes– 
I walk in footsteps of weeping cherry leaves 
and contemplate  
the world with peace punctured, 
it’s hard to say if the world is nearing its end 
or is simply turning a page.  

Today my heart is much more open; 
as birds sing a familiar song, 
here among endless rows of apple trees, 
and further down south 
where cafes and antique shops line  
cobblestone streets 
as one decides between tart or sweet, 
it seems almost sinful  
to distinguish between the two– 
since when has life ever turned out to be 
predictable and trouble-free? 

Carelessly, my words go on to touch 
and move beyond expectation; 
a blend of sugar and cream for those  
who are hurting, 
I believe that humans are capable of more 
than despair allows them to feel, 
that bones are made of stardust 
and intention is a grey dove awaiting its flight; 
it’s all one ever needs to survive. 
Now go back and start reading from the top. 





Photo credits: Joseph Zbukvic Watercolor Painting, Pinterest 

Posted for Poetics: Poetry of Place and Space @dVerse Poets Pub