There’s a feeling in me
a stream running down from my head
all the way down to my shoulders,
splitting like a delta to chest
to my finger tips.
My mustache is screaming
my eyes are restless,
and I think I am scared of something..
it’s the Fall
death is lurking on street corners,
leaves are committing suicide one by one,
and wind is not that soft breeze on your hair anymore,
it’s the public flogging of a totalitarian regime..
I am not scared,
I feel as wild as a boar,
as patient as a sea cliff,
flames are speaking to me,
and the nights,
oh the nights I have faith in them
I, son of the streets,
Tall in length
young in age
dark in color
eat well,
feel well (in this soul prison called body),
laugh like a child,
giggle often,
still there’s something in me asking..
Are you scared?
Well maybe..
scared as a man who will buy a one way ticket to a place that he has never been before,
scared as a teenage boy living in a studio apartment alone.
Scared as the feeling of touching your pocket and not feeling your keys.
Am I scared?
and maybe it’s just the melancholy of the fall
and I have forgotten how to greet it alone…
Come sit down friend,
have a cup of tea with me,
have a smoke,
close your eyes.
lean your head on my chest,
let us trust each other,
without trust this long way to home will be unbearable.

Washington, D.C.

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