I see him outlined against the window in a busy café— his wool hat on the table beside a muffin and a cup of tea— a portrait from a bygone era and a study in longevity. He barely moves except to sip his tea. I walk up to say hello— he looks up and smiles, his teeth a shining white— they might be false but who cares? I catch the morning sun’s rays in his eyes; they cannot lie nor fake their light. We talk— it is so easy to converse, to steep in his cup, a rich brew he stirs slowly and thoughtfully— I wait in no hurry to leave. © Neetu Malik
by the river
he looks lost
his face appears ancient
in rumination
under the sycamores’
embracing shade
thinks he might see
God
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Dayna hopes for a second chance at love . . . but . . .he wears a wedding band.
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Hi Neetu, How tender; sad but also sweet.
Thank you, Veronica. The gentleman who inspired this had a certain light and quiet power which touched me deeply, fleeting though my brief interaction with him was.