Scenes From A Metro
The smell of the market
hangs in the air.
It hitched a ride
two stops back.
Fresh fish and the smell of dusty streets
on a warm summers day underground.
Writing & Other Things
The smell of the market
hangs in the air.
It hitched a ride
two stops back.
Fresh fish and the smell of dusty streets
on a warm summers day underground.
I am a little God
of tarnished silver
lying silently in the grass.
A secret thing,
hidden by earth
waiting to be discovered.
This poem first appeared in The Guardian in October 2004 It’s only when he turns the pages, touches the paper,that
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