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Cafe Del Soul

By Pali Tripathi -- Contributing Poet -- [Email This Item]

The sounds splashing over my years with a convoluted wisdom
Torn threads tied to tips of toes, memoirs woven of slippery yarns
Yellows and Greens. Oranges and Reds. Blues and Purples
Stains and freshness. Blossoms and passion. Innocence and the mood

Eerily pulsating just below my thumb, my nerve. Not steel
Of quivers, sighs and tokens. Of flimsy material. Like houses made of cards
The lick of rage caught between shards of time and minutes of never- had- been meetings
A smile caught at the corners by blocks of ice. Not reaching the eyes

Clasped fists ready to flee at the onslaught of comfort. A mirage
Naked feet, nails digging deep for mercy from the view in the window
Closed eyes warily looking for signs of belief
Lest it grows and devours purposefully. Its very nature

It's safe for now to venture. Trust on guard, disregarded
Just twenty count of reasons in that direction. How dangerous can it be?
One. Seven. Ten. Fifteen. Better go back in. It's not safe
It's a game. The one rarely won

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