These are the Days

‘These are the days, my friends,
these are the days.’ – Philip Glass

This is the day, my friend,
this is the only day,
the solitary time
for you to read
what I have
to say.

This is the minute,
it is you
and
I.

You cannot hear much screaming.
from the place where
I sit writing,

so nothing proves that
somewhere, seven
billion other
scenes
exist.

In the place you stand (or sit), reading,
nothing shines more
real than what’s
created
by us.

I pass the page and you breathe deep.

A sun-lit window opens up
and autumn breeze can
grab the curtains,
give them
gentlest
shake.

An auto moves, eternal quest,
with doppler wave-like
hushed-roar past,
we move it
slow or
fast.

It’s My left toe that’s your left toe
and this colour red,
yours at my
behest.

Let’s build between
a moment’s peace
and quiet place
to rest.