a city wakes diffused
week two at cluttered quarters
desert under my
my water bottle an erect palm
We own no cooler no AC
instead our doors remain open
we receive among others
tap of sunlight
smudged horizon in 3.5 x 6.5 frame
call of duty
glimpses of tomorrows and yesterdays hongsangsoo-esque in their playfulness
cue for indifferent / friendly tea
smell of night-soaked underwears on the balcony
call of duty
and of course dead skin of the city
settles over utensils shoes chairs
and is wiped
settles for window panes
magazines dictionaries my oxford
fiction and poems
like dust on poems
dust at traffic intersection
under a red moon
sleepy sands in yous eyes
a different city
Dusk’s all spent, unseen
I didn’t hear time flutter by
nor birds flying home
Buildings, logos, lights
stream past metro’s windows – my
sprinkle water, dust settles –
Som Bazaar at dusk
Dreaming love, a day dies – incomplete.
Crows fly away into the black.
Their caws will return
to the familiar morning …
of grumbling engines,
bodies swaying to the beat of metro,
memory of cozy beds,
a collective yawn big enough to
swallow Monday mornings.
Good morning love – a day begins. Destiny.
A crow flies away
Struck amnesiac by rays
bouncing off glass towers.
I hear something shatter.
‘First rains of the year!’
shared someone on a
Later in the evening, a fruit seller
alighted a bonfire of wispy
strands of hay from his carton.
The evening was chilly indeed.
But the little calf,
who had just begun munching on
it, failed to understand the need.
So often we meet
– fingers on half-erased letters
on stoic keyboards, or
like rush hour and a metro –
unaware of the bliss
of an encounter by chance.
I did a 9 – 6 shift, even on a Sunday.
Yeah, another day went by like countless others – days
that I would later wish could have been
spent doing something more meaningless, like
observing the musical trajectory of the day: silence-chaos-silence,
instead of shooting like comets after deadlines, caught helplessly in its pull.
Because you know,
“Not everything has to be significant.
Imagine if everything had meaning. You would choke!”
(Found this quote while meaninglessly loitering the hallways of the desktop assigned to me; the quote is from the movie ‘I Wish’ by Hirokazu Kore-eda)