Anonymous

I just got to New York.
Its cold and I miss the damp smuggyness of Bombay
and the comforting stench of the airport.
Piled life warming themselves round orange butts.
But I can loathe it as easily.
Just depends on which direction I'm coming from.
The blueness of your screen made me stay and watch
Warmth among the snow and cardboard.
I only want to meet you to count how many cigarettes you smoke.
I am not some crazed stalker, who has found an old passport picture,
Lingering with the longing of an aging pedophile.
I am not lesbian, don't be afraid.
Although why would you be?
And anyway it's none of your business.
I am here with a man who has brought me this way.
Tied in strings and presents.
I have no job yet although I like the adventure of the American dream.
I like the glowing buildings and try to belong.
I created an identity without witnesses
But now I feel like I can't let it down.
I am hostage to my undefined self
Isn't that silly?
After all, we are all anonymous aren't we?




Poetry by Su. G
Read 739 times
Written on 2006-11-30 at 11:15

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An interesting journey S, good luck in the new world, New York is a bit of a thrown in at the deep end for the narrator to end up in, but India, as I remember is an excellent training ground for survival. Good read, Tai
2006-11-30