At Alexandrite Street,
The nights were
No different
Than those
Stretches of time
That carried the
Tarnished names
Of dead exploits.
I can’t remember
A forked road,
But what I remember
Is a fractured woman
Underneath an
Even more fractured night.
Even the forked roads
Are empty
The cars scattered
All across the streets -
Unmanned,
Covered with darkness.
I see myself
Burning inside
All of the automobiles
Simultaneously.
From going to Alexandrite
And leaving,
I have never
Felt as vacuous
As an empty box
Of silken things.
I grew jealous
Of the cars
That had company -
Each car sat idly
Next or behind
The other
It’s like a caravan of
Sleeping children.
I had no one there
As I walked out
Of the perdition.
The guard saluted
Me with derision -
I felt more and more
Alone
And the cars gave
Hoarse laughs
As I left.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem