February 25th, 2024

The strum of a Spanish Guitar,

the soft tapping of wooden spoons 

on a semi-hollow surface. 

A voice that engulfed the room. 

A sacred melody that sounds,

resounds, resonates 

as if ringing through a vast canyon. 

I look out the clear glass window 

Green and brown and white 

tower over. 

I can barely see the peak of the mountains 

from my cushioned seat.

In the background 

the latte machine hums 

the door clicks open and closed 

people, strangers, chat softly 

over steaming cups of coffee, and croissants.

A small smile tip-toes across my face 

as my eyes, skimming just before, 

come to rest on the young trees 

decorating the path outside. 

It has already been a year since 

I saw them last, 

shivering with their bare branches, 

vulnerable to the ever-present 

brisk breeze. 

I hadn’t realized so much time 

had slipped away.

I can’t remember 

when those leaves blooming green, 

had turned auburn, and orange, and yellow, and brown 

before the color had been stripped 

all together 

with dead leaves 

strewn across the street 

like today. 

I raise the paper cup to my lips, 

the latte has gone cold. 

I look up, 

almost everyone has left. 

The empty plates and a bin 

overflowing with discarded coffee cups 

are all that remain. 

Even the song has changed, 

now a retro beat 

instead of a soft melody 

Already. 

I live most of my life 

in my head 

most of us do. 

When our schedules fill up, 

pump stress through our veins, 

choke time… 

we close 

our eyes, our ears, our hearts 

to our surroundings. 

Then

when life slows down

when time becomes free, 

we wake up 

from that trance 

of manic hustle and bustle 

having no clue about how 

we found ourselves 

Here. 

Here, where everything has changed. 

Here, where we have not… 

--------------------------------------------------

March 21st, 2024

Already 

almost a month has passed.

This poem left

unfinished,

has been lying on my bookshelf 

for more than three weeks. 

It has almost been a fortnight 

since I visited that sweet little coffeehouse 

facing the mountains 

that I also see everyday 

from my bedroom window. 

Already, those young trees 

huddling naked in the breeze a few weeks back 

have begun to bloom 

the smallest buds.

Spring is here

and yet

I am stuck wondering 

how winter has come and gone so soon. 

Let my ignorance be 

a testimony to the ungrateful way 

most of us consider time. 

May it be a warning 

to treasure what we have 

while we have it 

because before we know it, 

It will be gone, 

taken by the currents of the wind 

like the last if the dead leaves 

that had fallen from those trees 

Already 

so long ago.