the clouds stirs the half deserted moon
with an old record of Chopin nocturne playing
in a fine small restaurant; half the eternity spent
with indecent sounds of insolent wind
hissing and bickering outside; with poor accent
of novelty asserted in beautifully made
pin, placed alongside the sides of tuxedo,
only to be forgotten, like a fancy lantern
placed so discreetly, along the walls of the
door to my house.
and I return to home before the clouds subside
the moon shone into my indifferent countenance.
I see the darkness swelling in every footstep I will take
outside the restaurant, with carefully prepared confession
and affirmation. And my meticulously planned speech
rehearsed in restless nights, shattered scathed shun away in
latest jazz love songs, heard gently from the piano.
the streets are empty, the door unattended,
digress a little with the usual talks and the
same prepared countenance,
before the taking of the last cup of
wine, and sign the signatures to my fate
into one restless paycheck
you will not see me waiting here
reading and weaving my latest poems for you....
in time, in time there is infinite deliberation
and obliteration, to roll across the table and
serve you, the ocean of misery in one small
cup of tea. The finest of all moment
refined with my terrible sentiment
to hold the coffee-cup gently against my lips
and taste the infinite digression roll alongside
your cheekbones
before it leaves you empty
The lantern is painfully neglected and abandoned
with dust and stains smudged tainted and old
the wind falls with sigh, subtly and still,
and I sit here in the corner of evening, till I grow cold.
By: Jason Hayashi
