The road not taken


The road not taken

He comes in my dreams sometimes,
with eyes matching the background of the sun,
but no, his eyes are not blue and the sun has lost
the amber reflections of the sand,
where we last walked hand by hand.

We used to play scrabble, piles of Arabic letters
that didn’t resemble any meaning in any dictionary
and he knew I was spelling ‘love’ completely wrong,
but he kept smiling, until the birds made
a nest out of the telephone wires.

And I wrote a letter, two, three,
and my words swayed the pink flares
of the Pyramids just before the dawn of summer.
I had a hope for a while, that he will stop by
and read about why we are apart now.

But years from now, I will meet a stranger,
somewhere on a cruise to Panama.
We both will have hearts of travelers
and stories to exchange over the death of waves
and the spell of nymphs.

And there will be a fairytale, fantasies about
flamingos in love and a boy who missed
the last bus from El-Minia to Giza,
because the road was never his to take,
neither mine to offer.


"Boats off Cromer" by David F. Barker

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© 2012  Broken Sparkles