Wednesday, January 11, 2012

Panjim in the rain.

The last dregs of my coffee cup
and the water in my shoes.
Small change in my wallet
but a pocketful of blues.
What business do you have here?
I wish I could explain.
I guess I'm here, just to look
at Panjim in the rain.

The road is like broken glass
fallen from the sky.
And poetry is nothing but a better way to lie.
The moths drink up the street lights
and I drink all that remains.
Swig by swig, under the stars,
in Panjim in the rain.

The mice and men are in their holes
hiding from the Gods.
The empty street and the empty pier
can't stand an empty glass.
Everybody is a sinner in this town,
searching for a saint.
All they find is alcohol
and Panjim in the rain.

Water water everywhere,
but not a drop to drink.
Laughter laughter everywhere,
but not a thought to think.
My bartender is as nonchalant as they come.
"When it rains, it pours", He says.
Then pour me another one, and let me drink
to Panjim in the rain.

1 comment:

  1. I really like a few sentences.Very well written man!


Of guitars and paintbrushes....(and a few other things too) Headline Animator