Like a picture postcard from a city,
A city frozen in another time.
Living its own distorted reality,
On the mantel piece of the sky line.
The old building – a marooned ark,
Amidst that ocean of newness.
Currents that probed his skeleton so stark,
And eroded his island of sadness.
Like a painting from a disturbed dream,
An amorphous specter of shadows and light.
Strange hours when things are not what they seem,
Diffusing into the impending night.
The construction termites crept upward,
Digesting him slowly from his feet.
His creaking timber could be heard,
All through the passages of the street.
He stood in an old man’s humiliation,
Full of clumsy painful discomfort,
Unable to strike up a conversation,
His windows futilely flapping till it hurt.
The glitzy mica glass windows slid shut,
With a monosyllabic polite hiss.
A pre-occupied abruptness that cut,
The nascent words away from his lips.
The large holes on his roof like sad eyes,
Tilted heavenward, an infinite gaze,
That spanned distances and alien skies,
Into the bosom of changeless space.
Gray birds came to perch by sheer habit,
Their feathers shivering in winds of change.
Thus the ancient companions would sit,
Sharing a dialogue wordlessly strange.
Perhaps they had nothing left to say,
Draughty silences followed each sound.
Assuaged by their presence for the day,
He ebbed into the solitude profound.
Brooding elegy in architecture,
Composed for a thousand yester years.
The rain bathed his hunched structure,
And perhaps concealed his voiceless tears.
The vertigo of death grew inside him,
Contracting like a cooling universe,
And the air within grew so dense and grim,
Echoing like the judgments of a curse.
He would soon be brought down on his knee,
Like a giant oak – pummeled, stabbed and torn,
Sighing like a dying season not a tree,
And would fall with an unending groan.
Sinking down like a wounded warrior,
The gust of a million fluttering pages,
With a roar so loud that you could hear,
The voices of the bygone ages.
This poem is part of the Poetry Book “Twenty Poems of Light and Longing: Rabbit HOLE calling“