City of Lights

It's a chilly night.
I rub my palms together, draw my jacket tighter over my shoulders and hug myself real tight. I am leaning over the balcony of our apartment in Dubai, and I look as far beyond the horizons of the city as I possibly can, just to let the sights and sounds coalesce into a happy place in my soul...feel the cool breeze tease my hair in a whimsical flight of fancy maybe.

I'm mesmerized by the silver linings of the skyscrapers glowing decadently against the ebony black night, the beautiful city lights that run the course of the horizon in a blurry haze, and the tranquility of the night so in harmony with that which is settling over me presently.

The chilly wind orchestrates the flow of my hair, and from a distance, the wind carries upon its wings distant strains of peace and resilience that lull me into a deep reverie of years long past. Faceless faces and beautiful harmonies keep me company for the remainder of the night.

Outside, the city that never sleeps is showing signs of turning in for the day. I draw my jacket tighter over me, hug myself, and lean over the silver rails to gaze at the city snoring softly under the hazy glare of the city streets.

It's nice to slow down every once in a while.
Pretty therapeutic, actually.

Those Winter Sundays

Sometimes you come across poems you desperately wish you'd written.

'Those Winter Sundays' by Robert Hayden, for me, is one such poem.

Here's how the poem goes: 

Sundays too my father got up early
and put his clothes on in the blueblack cold,
then with cracked hands that ached
from labor in the weekday weather made
banked fires blaze. No one ever thanked him.

I'd wake and hear the cold splintering, breaking.
When the rooms were warm, he'd call,
and slowly I would rise and dress,
fearing the chronic angers of that house,

Speaking indifferently to him,
who had driven out the cold
and polished my good shoes as well.
What did I know, what did I know

of love's austere and lonely offices? 

***

Now how beautiful was that?

Dear Stranger

We knew each other only for a day.
And yet, our conversation flowed smoothly, like a bicycle wheel in perfect trajectory. We talked about everything we could think of, completely unaware of the fact that up until a few moments ago we were complete strangers in awe of each others' presence.

So many things still remain to be said.
Maybe we'll save that bit for the next time we cross paths again.
Something tells me we will.

Till then, dear stranger, farewell.

It was enchanting to meet you.