Silent Walls

They stand 

At same spot I saw them yesterday

Though the wind has been cold and biting

Though the sun has briefly made her way across the four sky

They stand 

At the same spot I leant on them yesterday

Though their shadows have grown and rotated around their base

Though more of us lean on them now hanging our distress on their slick facades

What confessions

Would they have heard

In sunny afternoons as they stand with neither a frown nor a smile not even a shrug 

Or may be they chuckle

Inside their concrete hollows

at the ephemerality of those who lean on them

to cry and vow and pass by.

Down the alley

Down the alley we will walk

Two old birds

Seeking out old haunts 

Old memories that remind us

Of when we were young

Down the alley

Hand in hand

Looking into the  bakers shelf 

And sharing a pie

Smiling into the broken meal

And stealing looks over mouthfuls

Down the alley we we will remember

that time when passions ran hot

and our blood ran riot

when the flowers seemed especially talkative

on errands

Down the alley

nothing more to take our attention

just two old birds

seeking remembrance.

A voice crying in the wilderness

There is a voice crying in the wilderness

standing atop the salt petre slabs

distilled from tears shed over time

tears shed in anguish

There is a voice crying in the wilderness 

Peering out from the hulk

Of abandoned private jets

Sitting out their lives amid the dunes and scorching sun

There is a voice crying in the wilderness

There are wolves howling at the moon

There are owls wailing forlornly in the dusk that never ends

There is a voice crying in the wilderness

Asking what shall it all profit a man?