The Lonely Fountain
by
Sami Khalil
Sitting on a wooden bench,
absent-minded, sulking at life,
images rose without a will;
heavy-eyelid phoenixes upsurged through amnesia.
I spied a lonely fountain, coiffed three-tiered elevator,
bathing in her statuesque beauty, accosting a plethora of
sparkling repartees; wild-haired waters, dropping recycled
dreams, voguish in their times.
Smidgen of senses came back to me, shadowing
my quintessence in an orchestration of awakenings,
fronting the dual ties, acting with temerity.
Feeling like a surplussed homeless,
I tossed few coins as she asked me to dance.