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Assailed by the newness of things and pieces
this old metropolis has to offer
I pore each crack in the pavement
the streaks remind me of Lolek’s gnarled hands
hands mottled-twisted by earth
I mingle with the swell
jostle sun-kissed limbs
pungent like pugon-baked bread
in Grandma’s kitchen
I watch as words sprout like flowers
on a young girl’s cheek

Here standing beneath pewter skies
I taste something akin to joy…






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The following comments are for "Akin"
by Shakti





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