Poets

 

On a balmy summer evening

the scent of jasmine’s in the air

and I sit on my balcony

counting stars – just killing time.

 

I breathe the night air

and an awesome sense of comfort

comes over me.

 

That taste of vanilla on my lips

such sweet essence

suddenly turns bitter in my mind

because… because…

 

It was so long ago,

another time, another place,

a different moon, and peaceful nights

and you were there,

then you were gone.

 

Perhaps my fault,

no… no perhaps

I know it was.

 

Some nights, when I sit on my balcony,

I hear the sound of broken voices,

muddled bits of conversation;

so I close my eyes and dream of yesterday

when life was good

 

when we talked to each other,

and whispered little secrets,

and I wish I could hear them now.

 

Some nights I hear the neighbors argue.

Their voices are harsh

and I struggle to remember yesterday.

 

And the guy from-thirty six B

makes frequent visits to twenty-four A,

none of my business…

 

I’ve seen misery happen once or twice,

but last night,

hard to tell who was racing hell

and I don’t care.

 

Night time is cool in my balcony.

Let the neighbors sprinkle their dust

as they go along.

 

Let me just dream of vanilla

and pipe tobacco…

…my own dirt’s under control

neatly tucked inside tiny terracotta pots.

 

Carmen Ruggero©2012