poésie

London

I saw London as an open wound

The wound being the Thames

Convex, like a bump on some earth

From which dripped the flow of people getting out of work

Looking straight ahead

Not minding any business not theirs

That is ours.

 

I was frightened by that vision

Like individually zombified from a massive charge

On their own

And none of them really crossing

Yet some of them

Like pearls amongst the drops

Managed to grant me with a smile.

 

But no wonder why they did

London is massive

Buildings, old or new, heavy hanging on their large, earth-crusted feet

Like the working class in suits and their stiff look

Me and my hat

We pierced out of the flow unwillingly

Stupefied.

 

Meanwile under the Thames

The beating heart

Continues its beating fast

And our lives, fast still

Are dripping away.

 

October, 3rd 2018

London

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