It's a rainy day in old New York;
Traffic lights
Burning - steam
Drifting, shifting through gutters,
Electrified angels
Flying high in
The big apple,
Illuminated!
Softly spoken of jazz and evening
Caresses of
Passion and love;
Fantastic dreams weighing heavy
Overhead,
Keeping the city a beat!
And covering all of their tears...
And it's strange
Not to wonder, just how many
Tears
Have fallen to these mad streets
After falling
Swiftly from the face of
Absolute grace.
This hot city, laughing and screaming,
Breathing and living! Yet
Never dying:
Trapped, from beyond
The grave; searching for
The saint
And destroyed
By the supernatural, echoing
In darkness - whispers as sacred
As Brooklyn, Manhattan and on
Up state.
A lot of love
Is made here when it rains:
“Rainy day, dream away”
Sings Hendrix
From the ghost of
My record player.
Dim apartments, candles lit,
Lovers tangled
In the sheets,
No tragedies in bed...
Through chimes of cold rain
Reflective of
God and all related topics I
Hear Kerouac,
Somewhere out inside of all the grey
And all of the gloom,
Mind turning -
Speaking of the mad ones:
True vision
Seen!
From the east village,
To Harlem
... and back again.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem