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Poem



The city yawns a concrete hazy stretch
Before the sirens find their daily screech.
My sneakers whisper on the dew-kissed pave,
A podcast murmurs secrets it will save
For later listening. The sky, a bruised plum,
Slowly surrenders to the sun's soft hum.

A hurried coffee, steam against the chill,
The digital world begins its urgent drill.
But in these steps, a quiet counterpoint,
A space to breathe before the daily joint
Of deadlines, emails, screens that never cease,
Demands a fragment of internal peace.

The day unfolds a tapestry of threads
Woven with tasks and unspoken dreads.
Then evening falls in neon-streaked descent,
And faces gather on a park bench leant.

No crackling fire, just the streetlamp's glow,
Illuminating stories soft and slow.
A shared exhaustion, laughter light and brief,
Unburdening worries, finding some relief
In human cadence, voices low and near,
A counter-narrative to all we hear
Online, a curated, filtered, perfect lie,
Here, vulnerability can safely lie.

We scroll through feeds but crave a knowing glance,
A voice that resonates beyond the chance
Of fleeting likes and comments scrolled away.
These evening talks where honesty can stay.

The day's debris, the digital overload,
Washed clean by whispers on this concrete road.
The morning's solitude, the evening's gentle blend,
A modern ritual until the very end
Of another cycle, chasing fleeting light,
Connected deeply in the fading night.

The moon ascends, a silver watchful eye,
As conversations soften and goodbyes fly.
A promise whispered for the coming dawn
Of morning walks and evening talks drawn on.

©bfa041325

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