Gentle fog brushes the window-panes
Of London suburbs, underground trains
Jutting out from the bowels of the city
Wisps of smoke on clay sky, smudged in horizon,
A day � dull cold wintry.
Still I loved the city from my first kiss,
Its friendly carpets led me to its heart
I divorced my birthplace that ended in ashes
My coat, dotted with disappearing flakes,
Leaving a smudge of wintry moisture at daybreak.
That day I breathed chilled freedom, reassuring
Heard voices dying from other continent, cursing,
Wolfing snarls at my new resurgence,
With so much anticipation,
When hands are bare and the bag barren.
How should I begin the journey?
A candle in hand with whirlwinds of ambitions
Bypassing whispers, caressing invitations,
Subtle confusions, but never in vain
In wilderness of emotions I�ll conquer, and I�ll reign.
London, my London, I cry for thee
You hold the cradle of freedom, sweeping pastures
Of corruptions. You replace silence to thunder,
Gathering to a crowd, you lay a boulevard for me.
Here�s no solitude, only passion and fast lanes
Guests and agents, sing-songs and gardens
Evenings and nights are tingling and perfumed
Shining bright faces, sprinkled with innocence.
I glide and float in simmering enchantment
Engorging in poetic delusion, in fantasies of emotions
Textiles and porcelains, flowers in Covent Gardens
Turners and palaces, Lord Nelson pillar to Camden.
London, my dearest, the unreal city -
The rampant, the passionate, the impatient
The charisma, the passions, you forget all caution.
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