Every year the snowdrop comes.
Only one,
beside the tree
that stands close by my window.
By this I know that spring is here.
Along the river, far away,
I’ve seen them grow in swathes and banks.
They stand in crowds,
in shivering ranks beside the waters margins.
I don’t walk there anymore
but I do remember,
when I see the single flower
that stands beneath my window.
© A.Chakir 2023
Saturday Sun shines through the window
onto my chair, negating all shadow,
Taking the shade.
I drink morning coffee blinded by dazzle
Squinting my eyes against this new day.
Awoken too early from short restless sleep
And no particular time I need keep,
No place to go, no schedule pressing,
I turn on the news. Death figures rising.
no one spoke a word to me
three days have past, since the last,
(a drunk outside the station
who wanted company)
in the shop I pay for milk
no hands to touch
no coins to pass
an electronic beep
contactless transaction
(shallow smiles)
(I could weep)
thanks is all we say
if I laid down
beside the road
and fell into deep sleep
it might bring some relief
but every day I walk for miles
to pass the time away
‘Is this the road to Coventry?’
‘They all are mate, I think’
*** being sent to Coventry is an expression or an action that means no-one will speak to you – you are excluded
The Dreaming Path 