The black lipped, painted maiden,

Swaying too and fro;

Serving coffee to customers

Beneath a firefly glow.

Heavy pallbearer footsteps,

Fall on old cobbled alleyways,

Grey shaded cityscapes;

Harbouring the flotsam of the day.

Customers with fidgeting fingers

Traverse the curling corners of menu cards,

With their gazes that linger,

Cutting light ray shards.

Within and without,

This cold, hollow evening,

Where young people meet,

With fleet footed greeting.

And the cobbles of the street,

Each one a lonely absence;

A faraway farewell

To a fading ghostly presence.

Slowly slipping away,

Between dream and sigh;

Timeless totem faces,

Bequeath grey lipped lullabies.

And slow droplets of rain

Bless the cold windowpanes,

And the smokers congregate,

Extinguishing all their flames.

All these windowed reflections,

Transcend earthborn solitudes;

Just custom and confection,

Slowly mapping out our finitudes.

17 April 2017