Treasure Island

Windsor Guadalupe Jr

(April 28,1992 / Philippines)

Paris Rain

Sitting on a porch
In splendid Paris as the doves
Guffaw and then scour -
We watch them flutter away
To their uncanny retreat: a slow resignation.
The candid lights flicker
And the sound of the automobiles are blaring -
The deafening cacophony of the sirens.
Among the foreign tongues,
She sips on her coffee as her eyes are filled
To the brim with enthusiasm.
The lights are trapped inside your eyes.
She told me, wearing her vibrant array,
Her mesmeric grin and her usual floral dress
That I have come to pick up in her absence.

The people chatter in a mad clangor
As they sprawl over their coffee
A rower came by underneath the winch
Where the river streams resiliently like
The lock of Janine's hair -
I run my hands through her hair and I am reminded
Of how hope slithers into my core.
It started to rain, gently
The supple bending of the cypress to the wind's
Amorous bluster is poetry to our eyes
The sound of the people scrounging for shelter
Is a saturnine humor
And how the rain engulfed her floral dress,
Leaving it with smudges of the heaven's tears
Made her glow in such a resplendent burst:
To see the Sun this close under the rain,
Lost in Paris is captivating -

We watch the rain drops shatter
Like glass tears from the heavens filled
With mire and her steady fixation
On the dank concrete made me jealous -
I wish to be the concrete, her stare
Is as precious as the ebullient trance like how one
Stands in front of the sea, naked
And wan as the wind starkly brushes your soul.
She continued to take fewer sips on her coffee mug,
Her stench defeats the petrichor,
The rain ceased and the doves began to scatter
All over the Paris asphalt, bickering over parcels of
Bread - she sat down again,
In front of me, on a porch in Paris.
Without the rain, Paris still razes with a beauty unfazed.
I was living in one of her dreams which slowly
Transpired into mine as well,

But then again,

Without Paris,
Without the rain,
Without the doves,
Without coffee,
Parcels of bread even,
Without the automobiles of
Uncouth machinism,
Without everything,
Way away,
Alone with her immense eyes
Is where I want to be.

Submitted: Wednesday, February 22, 2012
Edited: Wednesday, February 22, 2012

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