THE PARK BENCH

A Park bench greets the early morning light

cold and wet with retained emotion

from lengthy dialogues under a foggy cloud

between the air and the ghosts of the night

A Park bench observed by the morning flower

through the bangs of a weeping willow tree

the sun proud spreads colourful wings

Warming the cold solitude of the hour

Wondering whether bark is better for the bite

A man walks with stick in hand and mouth

The bench maintains calm amidst the pondering

whether bristled brush or ancient wood be right

Clockwise rotation, revolving practised routine

The bench recognises the park's walkers

some catching up with past conversation

some deafened by melodic music machines

The Park bench watches from nature's hold

As sparrows congregate voicing their concern

Their conference disturbed by scudding feet

And sounds of exercised laughter uncontrolled

Its quiet again, heat and humidity rises

the sun unfurling its resplendant might

The Bench sweats alone with nowhere to hide

until time sweeps and the oppression eases

The Park bench fervid as the sun ascends

to meet its imaginary zenith above

A mynah takes shelter beneath the wood

sharing shade with other feathered friends

Noon gives way to the evening sky

Lovers secret secluded to this hidden glen

Backs supported on the Park bench spine

they thread their lives as life passes by

The Park bench becomes sole salvation

to drunkard, policeman, poet and homeless 

warming the bench in no particular order

Each on a quest for the same revelation

The Park bench constant amidst change diurnal

Becomes bed for the unknown wandering spirit

Mute companion philosopher and guide as

Midnight completes the circle nocturnal