i
Today the wind wants to be seen
covering itself with leaves, climbing
the pines, teasing shivering trees
and bare legs, strolling to catch up
with the dappled sun on streets.
ii
inside the produce store, the nectarines
wafts their perfume,
over-powering the mangoes.
MANILA MANGO said the sign,
imported yellow still smelling
of blood---picked one up, under olfactory
scrunity, reminding me of mango days,
backpack resting on another's, gorging
on mango, waiting for the plantation
workers, speaking fiery mango breaths,
of mango scented revolutions.
It speaks to me, this cheerful colored
tragic fruit, travelled thousands of miles,
to taunt my nectarine days.
iii
there is a dead tree stump where I sit,
with my bag of nectarines, and some
sad hopeful library books, some
will be unread, Jon J Muth's
images eclipses my monochrome
memory splattered in red. Glycerine
plays over and over, in trance,
unseeing, doing it again, atleast
I'm all by myself this time,
leaves-candy-wrappers-costumed-wind
glides by to whisper:
it has been where my thoughts are.
iv
Somewhere history is changing its skin
its true, said the wind.
----oo0oo----
Form is Free Verse
Thank you for the comments
By horvax
© 2008 horvax
(All rights reserved)
