Kissed by mist
My breath meets the breath of the city
Calloused hands warmed on garbage fire
I try to see faces
Everyone is on hire
Buy me, buy mine, they seem to say
I reach out to touch the mist
It has no price tag
Yet I ask, "How much for this?"
No one hears me
Woollen caps let the sounds drown
I pick up a flower in the fog
And cover my head with a thorny crown
~FV
- - -
Passing Thought: What is unclear? Our minds seek order in chaos; chaos remains chaos. If I call fog hazy, then is it not clarity of observation?
- - -
I had taken this picture outside a temple in Delhi two winters ago. It inspired the poem.
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Chris Rodell says:
Lovely
I really enjoyed this. Nicely evocative.
Farzana Versey says:
Thanks, Chris...you enjoy
Thanks, Chris...you enjoy thorn pricks? Welcome to the club :)
~F