Stranger To Familiarity

Memories flutter in through the window
Perch a while on flapping curtains
And teasingly play along the pane
Then fly to the portrait
That fragile wooden frame
And is firmly embedded
In the history of smiling faces

Slipping through the
fingers of familiarity
I see you looking back at me
Your eyes; I can’t bear to
In truth I once knew you
But now, who are you?

Tears flow forth
From a well once dry
Fumbling, I no longer know
This stranger I’m reaching for
Walking down this road
Headlights glare in the distance
Sound of screeching brakes
I stand and stare
Recklessness in the face
Only to find myself
Staring back at you
As the night whispers softly
And streetlights black out….

The Beggar

Lying on the street
Watching Life pass him by
Crippled by Social Confinement
Guarded by Negligence
Baked in glaring Heat

Pleading with soulful eyes
Bound by a loss of Light
Holding out a trembling hand
A lamentation of Mercy me
A sorrowful history of Poverty
Carved in his wrinkled palm
A predetermined course
Like a curse of inheritance
Binding; breaking
Fleeing through the pages of Time
And leaving a streak of tears
In each dying generation

One bowl of living
Porcelain; breakable
The way his frame felt
The way his bones were

A young boy looks on
The way the coins shone
Eager and fast
Snatches the bowl away
His breath stifled
Life void of meaning
Attacked by a pang of Conscience
Rebuking; reprimanding
Ashamed of stealing from his own
Trots back in the heat
Places the bowl at his feet
Those soulful eyes look up
Brimming tears of Gratitude
Echoes of Thankfulness
resounding within the four walls
of heart-wrenching silence.