
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.