Fallen leaves

This is a little thing that came to my thoughts last week as I was walking at night through the city. It turned into a little poem, with a  not-so innocent significance.




Sweetness of air; this is an october so mellow
Summer lazying some more, its pigments of warmth filling
with indolence the silent evening where I stroll.

There's a distant past and a future faraway
and a place somewhere in-between
in which to let our steps go.

Lonely spots of colored glimmer stray
from the funfair nearby.
Remains of forced fun, they are sad in their on way
I sweep the plane tree leaves from the tip of my toe,
Questioning the patterns of carmine and yellow.
_Carpets for wanderers, oceans for dreamers
do you know, do you know?
is there a star to long for
when only memories I herded.


Footsteps make no sound at all, wind with the trees doesn't play
Weightlessness resemble being here
having all the time in the world
A cliff at your feet and a step you don't fear

Repose your lids and fall away
The air of seagulls' yells and tide spray
echoes indistinct splashes of laughter
That sound belongs to a forgotten past.
Clouds bright and fast, waves suspended and a lively shiver
it suddenly comes clear
It's the sound of your own childhood.

I sweep the plane tree leaves from the tip of my toe,
Questioning the patterns of carmine and yellow.
_Carpets for wanderers, oceans for dreamers
do you know, do you know?
is there a little being to come,
within my palm to hold?