Poems from Paris

Ci Mer

wearing matching sneakers on a muggy summer’s night,
sipping Ricard, snacking on fries – to sustain the French appetite.
cigarette smoke lingers, curling in the breeze,
as they bisou bisou and clink glasses, "salut"

people dance and sing while mosquitoes hum by the Seine,
strangers swapping conversations and lighters, never to meet again.

The man who rode a horse across Mongolia

sentences and streets that blur into one another,
chasing the unknown with a new lover,
whispers under the glow of the full moon,
and sleeping in until noon.

so, here’s to coffee and kisses,
with a man who rode a horse across Mongolia,
to him, I give my best wishes.

Lampadaire

brooding and adorned in Rococo patterns,
their tall stature yearning over civilisation,
while their shoulders tap the effervescent leaves,
their iridescent glow illuminates the path to be seized 

rust and cobwebs, relics of the years,
a capsule from the past, still shining on through tears.
switching from vibrance to deep abyss,
constantly changing, yet they never miss