Blurred Photo on a Wall

 

 

 

As if the old in all of us

On a rainy August morning

Walked away from the window

Which looked over to a brick wall

Held together

By the courtesy

Of frigid

Time

 

And left unturned the single bed where every spring

Still recalls the dreams and lonesome turns

Framed by walls where black and white moments remain

On warped paper, hanging on nails

To look over

Of the old in us

Listening

To the

Springs

 

A Meerschaum pipe and a bottle of Grappa

Next to the bed

Glow in the morning rays

That bounces upon the brick wall

For a short while, to start each day

For the old of us to leaf  

Through a poetry book

And recite

Aloud

Ja ma armastan Sind, sest

Or

Ho bisogno di poesia,

Questa magia che brucia la

Pesantezza delle parole

 

And

End in a murmur

With lines once whispered alone

Under a bridge

C’est la grâce

tremblante

à la force

appuyée,

C’est ta main

dans ma main

doucement

oubliée

June 25, 2023

© Vahé A. Kazandjian, 2023