Shadows, Sorrows, Sorries

the dusk upon my office street
has no color. this strip of road
down the deserted lake, cutting
through closely-huddled buildings,
and a looming cliff has the sun
slowly departing behind it, leaving
hollow clouds in its trail.

and all we have here are shadows.
lengthening every minute to become
the night. the flowering trees, windblown.
their blossoms one with dirt. the clinking
of glassware from the milkshake kiosk.
and employees on smoke breaks: fatigued,
frustrated flanking the pavements like
boats grounded in low tide - waiting for
night to fall, for the water to rise,
and take them away.

i look into their hollowed eyes. wide open,
but barely seeing, let alone realize.
smoking over a call, the mechanized laughter
and practiced pauses drives the client home.
there’s new task at hand now. time to head
back to the desk. the cigarette stub is tossed
into the gutter, and i almost hear its burning
tip extinguish in sewer.

close to 8PM, the offices start to empty.
motorbikes screech out of the cellar and
melt away in the dark. all i see is life slipping
away between shifts, in the quest of
making a living. are they aware? i doubt.

the dusk on my office street
has no color. and i walk away.
trampling the yellow flowers under my boots.

- Sobhan