About a town life with its visible good sides that can always reveal something ugly and dangerous.


The Night Town

The hero of the motley pictures
Stands always done up to the eyeballs
Playing with paint in stained-glass windows,
Mixing the colours at the crossroads.

Now hiding, or now going on
The lights are tossing on the ways.
The shawl of wires is thrown on all
Braiding patterns like the spin webs.

The shadow from the web is being
Along the oily flood of roads
Stretched in the yearning of routine
As if the blackest spiders' paws.

Wide streets give merriment to us,
They live by mood, mirth frame of mind.
But carnival of sole will pass
When turning from the gaudy light.

In windows here are diamonds' rows
Blinking with their coldly eyes.
And, here, overgrown with ooze
In silence an old house dies.

Here is the tumble-down, wrapped
A fence still lives with sick and fear.
And ashes have never been breathed
By town, new, but not grey-haired.

Sirens of music, howl of cracks,
Thunder cafes, sounds champagne.
And in the lines of darkest alleys
Glitter terrible steel blades.

You silly flapped
With your blank eyes,
Making wry faces,
Loud sighs.
Your mouth is the river
With teeth of lamps.
So what a freak you are,
Town of the swags.




Poetry by Alla Antares
Read 509 times
Written on 2007-02-26 at 09:26

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