I Stood One Day By Cold South Bank.
I stood one day by cold South Bank
Leaning my arms on the green-brown ledge
I stood to watch a patch of view
Of cool windy Thames in the rain.
As I stood soggy,
A fair haired man, tall and potent
Joined in with my meditation.
To see exactly what absorbed me in such attention.
He looked out and beyond, to see
What could only be
A patch of view, not my view,
but a different view, a different symphony,
from what could only be my personal remedy.
After sometime he turned his attention to me,
To watch me, watching outside of myself.
Lost in thoughts and someone else's parodies,
Forgotten rhapsodies, of boys with tinker tankers
And loud voices, like rat races, round bends
And upside down crevices,
I come back to see St. Paul's cavity,
and sea gulls screeching over me.
He does not see what I see; he does not see it
Not on my face, he only has a left-side view.
But he smiles, this man, he actually knows me.
And I know he's watching me,
I observe him and absorb him.
Even though he does not know it.
For I try very hard not to show it.
He knows I enjoy it, to superficialise
And my tendency to over-analyse.
Curious like Mr. Tom cat,
I'll stroll down Covent Garden,
In second hand bowler hat, and black umbrella
Just for the fun of it, just for my self-amusement.
And my human-natured self indulgence.
Artistic, descriptive, perhaps overly pessimistic?
He simply calls me over dramatic and idealistic!
I close my meditation; I pull my telescope back into
myself.
As I do this, I become more aware of the raindrops,
I hear them fall on me, their sound becoming clearer.
They meld in with the city,
Their colour camouflage upon camouflage.
I comment on this in amazement,
As I slip left arm into his right one available.
We become Mr. and Mrs. Canaan and Avriel!
Purely sarcastic, purely unrealistic, just one and
one.
Laughter hits in the chaotic night-time flare,
The decadence and Fromage de town Queers
Sparkle and make my eyes twinkle.
In PVC, Satin, feathers and mini MP3's.
The cool air hardly ever feels colder,
And becomes our midnight spring.
If this is a Midsummer's Night Dream
Then I am not surprised.
I may be a little mesmerised, but I am realised.
And we will stroll two and two, and become like the
midnight air.
And rainbow trout everywhere.
(c) By: Burcu Urundul. Written: 2nd April' 00.
posted by Burcu Urundul @ 12:02 am
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