LOVE
Under the wet awning, a drum, auto-harp and tambourine,
and a singer, familiar with a great range of rejections,
drums, sings,
strums time, keeps primal harmony,
despite her broken history.
On the sidewalk under a line of full moon street lamps,
a group, comfortable with each other, are singing Gospel,
despite history and the bitter aftertaste of their sect,
they sing of forgiveness and abandonment
to God’s mercy.
Through the weather-proof speakers,
outside the plate glass windows of Urban Outfitters,
come the new songs of the latest season,
lyrics of loss and disloyalty, ash and envy,
and despite the odds come refrains of hearts aflame —
all the same old Greek gods.
Everybody in this city is singing
of the one weary word,
romanticized, anesthetized, stalked, mocked,
soundly bruised and still unbowed,
somehow, undying and able,
they sing, for transforming.
Your poems, covering the gamut, still seem to always end with hope. Thank you.
Thanks Joyce!
The most intangible is the most universal
Inspiring us with love, hope, redemption
Thanks so much Anand!