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RANDOM THOUGHTS
Smoking On a Sunday
Aubrey Bahala


Anemic. Coughing. Heavy breathing.
A sinful act on a sacred Sunday
Could you remember?

Walking past the monuments
Of numerous saints staring at me
And at my hand, where the mighty
Stick is fitted.

Wet pavements and the blowing cold
Breeze has awakened me.
There’s no need to return home.
I choose to stay beside you, comrade.

Shivering under a waiting shed.
Dependence on what I’m holding
Keeping the night inside of me
Alive and going.

Certainly, I could wait here until
Another taxi cab passes by the dark
Streets fronting the mental institution
Where people have dropped you.
Posted: August 5, 2007


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emanilapoetry formally opened on 19 June 2005 and is an online community of more than 400 writers and poets from various countries. As at 28 Sept 2007, this site has more 6,862 poem entries in archives.





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