Aquarelle
streets became an obstacle to footsteps
because of their benches
lighting columns
stairs at the building entrances
you are not breathing
a quarrel
concealed by the door is screaming from a nearby apartment
no one has ever told
that
it is going to be easy
under the window
football boots
unearthed from the pile of Red cross's garbage
are chasing the ball
for you it doesn't make any difference
a thought -
the tree will sprout
if not in yours
than at least in your neighbor's backyard -
is
disgraced by spilled concrete
again
it won't happen to you
a touch of warmth imprinted at your cheek
and your silence
below the heels of well trained passers-by
you have mislaid your expectation
and
threw that last look at the muddy road
it should happen to you
maybe already tomorrow
either way
pink is only a reflection of the red on the white surface
Post Comments
Poetrysoup is an environment of encouragement and growth so only provide specific positive comments that indicate what you appreciate about the poem. Negative comments will result your account being banned.
Please
Login
to post a comment
Turn off ads, get more exposure for your poetry, and get more features with a
Premium Membership.
