I always walk down familiar streets at night. I do not let time tiptoe past me unnoticed. I pace slowly, observantly with the steady climb of the moon. The same drooping streetlights, the same tarred roads, the same bougainvillea tree round the corner everyday, swaying to the same song I always stop to listen.
How well I know the song, how little I know the songbird. Cruel is her beautiful ignorance. Does she not know that her song brims over, past her bolted windows and strays into my yearning arms? Does she not know that though it tears me with pain, it still engulfs me with the wonder of the cool spray of a freshly broken wave?
Does she not know that her song makes me forget my way home through familiar streets...
No comments:
Post a Comment