revolving doors

The coffee-house was
gentle and quiet,
visited by heaving chests
and sorrowful minds,
their watches playing
hide and seek with
the rulers of the world.
A black jacket,
splattered red and blue
with voices from fantasy
lands, from places of the calm shivering
of silent prophets
of forgotten birthday wishes,
talks to the shadows
and slithers along the
corridors of gloomy
adolescent boys and girls
kiss with borrowed interest
in obscure seasons
of delight that have passed
by so slowly from
your mind
reaches back sometimes, I know,
(so please do not lie)
to times of heroic speaking
of home
and how humble I am
not trying to lose myself
in words that they have said
that I am not trying to lose myself
in the coffee-house is glowing
with a surprising light
emitted by dead writers
of prose and poetry written
in rhymes that she sang as
a child is walking slowly past
the swings of
bright purple is fading slowly,
of course I am not trying to lose myself
in what you said
I was not good anymore according to
the rules are unwritten in stone
in a black paint
the sky blue again someday
I will try to lose myself in what
you said the joker is smiling
as usual
I am trying to lose myself in what
you said you liked my stories
are my favourite way to
stop thinking so much
confusion in this world of
narrow lanes are always being rained
upon the table perched a cat
that had learned the art of perching
from the bird he had swallowed
whole centuries have passed by
since I haven’t thought of
you are playing with your old dolls
so peacefully that I want to just watch
now come tell me is it not fun
to be alive is a gift that not many
people have a right
to say what you want is important
when words are the only thing that
you may command me to go to bed
but I want to stay awake a while
more tea for me please
do not ask me if I am trying to lose myself
in what you said when the coffee-house was gentle and quiet, visited by heaving chests and sorrowful minds.