29 July 2005
(written at the Royal York in downtown Toronto)
The night wind is talking to you
in a soft rhapsodical voice.
Can you hear the melody and feel the cool touch?
The streets are washed in white lights and shadows,
tunnels into the inner worlds
where the mundane and the profane mingle.
Some people are afraid of the night.
Believers clutch their holy books
and see sin and resurrection.
But for you the night is magic.
The air is electric. Strangers
have a magnetic quality.
Colors are both muted and vibrant.
Even the concrete is alive.
Can you hear the jazz beat of life?
Car horns, shouts, footsteps, night music.
The office lights are shining stars,
the accidental collisions,
Lovers exit through a doorway
caught up in some trite argument.
In a dimly lit bar, Trevor
drinks too much and still can't forget.
In a village in the Sudan
sunlight has already risen
on the scorched huts of a village.
You see it all, but soon forget.
Afterall, it's just another night,
another night in the city.
© 2005, Satya J. Gabriel