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Staircases of lost trails
of thoughts in the ancient
recesses, nooks and corners,
in the half-drawn zebra-crossings,
and anomalies of lives
that intersect to deviate
into the realms of not knowing,
in the half-empty shops 
that sell enchantment,
in the giant-bridge that overlooks 
a breathless flow of an uncanny water
that connects parallel dreamy lands
of unyielding mysteries,
in those rooms of blue benches
and dusts of hasty chalk-throws,
or grounds of emerald
bathed in a sublime light 
of a morning sun of my ancient days,
in the scribbles that remain
in the pages of my unforgiving memory,
in the beats of dhak, the wilderness
of my mythical joy, of colors, 
of countless harmonics, 
and the fairy-tale comeback of
an endearing goddess, 
in the fierce flow of roaring crowd
and that quaint bookstore on my
favorite pavement, 
in farewells of people
who meet perchance in the alleys
of rusty, frantic mayhem
before they get lost in everyday,
in the forsaken poem
of vivid insurgence,
in smiles of conjoined thoughts,
in sudden storms of noetics,
in the falling for, in 
the collision of asteroid-like souls
that collapse into a fierce,
maddening story, in the
growing-apart of those 
half-made story-pieces
that flow away with 
the winds of merciless change,
in the whimpering of thrown-away
worlds, and tinkling of chimes
on the window of longing-----
O my lovelorn city, how are you?

Copyright © | Year Posted 2016

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Date: 2/21/2016 3:45:00 PM
well expressed. LINDA
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