⌛ yes..i feel so far away..

i long to rest under the shady centuries-old acacia trees..at the boulevard where i can get a whiff of that salty sea breeze..where i can close my eyes..and listen to the drone of the tricycles as they hum their motors on the highway..where i can watch the sun set on that sad horizon..and watch the little waves shy away from the seawall..where i can watch a family stroll down that lane where so many families have trodded before..where i can listen to the humming of the wind..as they bring back the stories of long ago..the benches,they wait sun-scorched all day, for lovers to settle in the early evening..to talk and stargaze and hold hands..after the heat had ebbed away..and as i watch on the seashore from where i stand now..i watch the stars start to dot the evening skies..and i wonder..at that shady spot under the centuries old acacia trees..as i get a whiff of the salty sea breeze..wuld the sun-scorched bench still be waiting?..i wonder and i hurt..

 

nice poem, a great sentiment.

 

Hummmm I walk the bolevard mornings maybe 4 times a week but some days is not the salt air i am breathing. The sewage and the rats and the drunks from night before. Does it stop me nope still love my sunrises on the bvld

 

It's so darn hot outside. The classics are playing on the radio. The heat inside the room is slowly slipping out the open windows as the day approaches late afternoon. It feels so much back home sitting here, writing thoughts, waiting for evening. But unlike here in the city, back home would be a deafening quiet mid-afternoon. The sun would be up at its highest peak and the heat waves fluctuating on the stark white concrete road. You could almost call it ghost town except for the few townsmen who move about zombie-like in the heat. The unusual uproar in the makeshift market still for once. The gossiping old women drowsy in this magical time of day when when old timer sprinkles his sleeping dust to magically put everyone in siesta mode. Save the old ladies who have their frequencies constantly tuned in to the town's gossip. Be it fresh or stale, these hags can whip up quite a storm enough to keep everyone lively entertained on days end. Except for this time of day, they would have to wait for early evening before beginning their circus. Back home, the whole house would be wonderfully cool inside. The kettle would be screaming its top off while hot water bubble merrily from within. There would be cookies in a jar and the wonderful aroma of freshly mixed instant coffee in a little while. Mixing spoons and coffee cups rattle happily amidst bubbly conversations of bygone times. Everyone would be gathered for coffee and reminiscing. It would still be so darn hot outside while the classics would still be playing on the radio. But inside, everyone would be chilling over cups of coffee, sharing thoughts, waiting for evening.

It is still so darn hot outside. The classics are playing on the radio. But I am lost somewhere in my mind chilling over a cup of coffee and reminiscing with everyone else about times gone by.