May 23, 2006

Where streets meet

He stands on the same corner
From morning to evening
He stands on the island between four lanes of tar
Blown and twisted by the roar of engines
The frustration of beings
In their mobile metal boxes
Going to or coming from

He stands at that corner
Scratching out a tomorrow
From those who see through most of the time
But they do not realise that he has visions
He sees the future as clearly as we see the reflection of face in a mirror
On rainy days, he carries umbrellas
With smiling faces and floppy ears
For the sun, he has shades and caps

This morning
Before the chill set in
He stood with scarves of red, brown, yellow and purple
Every day he stands on that corner

I wonder what he'll have tomorrow

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