where i live – the poet

said to his friend –

looking out the window

will not always tell you

the weather condition

around this area of hamlets

strewn about

along the murmuring brook

called Weidlingbach.

the bus that takes you to the

north – not always a pleasant

drive

suddenly a landscape you’ll

hardly recognize

dunked into the eerie look

of condensed fog

at this early September

touching a sad nerve

on the memory of yesterday

when we still younger

filled with fire of adventure

rushing to find out the

results

of one’s expectation

striving for a life in continued

creative mood

ready for a seductive dance

testing limits of physical

endurance

from initial surprises of a game

excitement that harboured

not always good sex

but often a fight

of having missed out in life’s

fruit of holistic happiness

creating a continuation of

one’s life for a next generation.

she cried – the poet said

hot tears of love

rivulets along his chest

imagine!

i still feel the trickle at times.

tears.sraet.

zoltanzelan

zjg-poetry’20.