Reminiscent of Past Lovers 

The illumination began as the sunrise to the north,
as one sunbathed in the garden of sunflowers.
infinite as the towers of Singapore.

Ornate with the jewels of the Aegean Sea,
poetic as the cinematic voice of Rumi.
trailblazing with the spirit of jubilee.

Pulsating to the vibrant beats of Ibiza,
navigating through the trenches of stentorian
terrains that left you sedated with the ultimatum
saying yes or no.

The rhythm of soulful jazz at the Harlem backdrop has
one remembering the freedom of New York on a Saturday night,
Lincoln Center giving you a swift of Duke Ellington gives you nostaglia
as many tries give their rendition of Sentimental Mood and when the prowess outlived the frightened.

Once upon a time, there was an absence of fear as one wondered the
skyscrapers, boisterous yellow cab drivers, rude, disruptive, and uninterrupted civilians pledged allegiance to be a New Yorker.

As the night fell, the vibrancy, intensity, and boisterous became the compliant, sedated civilians that became the obedient servants of the evil. As the curtains fell on Broadway, restaurants were left at a standstill, schools were dismissed, domestic violence, sexual assault, and violence became prevalent, among other things, became the central theme of avoidance. Meanwhile, politicians rose to superman/woman status giving their version of what safety should be because we no longer knew what it meant to make informed decisions, and we needed adult supervision.

Laws and policies were being passed without constituents’ acknowledgment. We stood bare in the Washington Square for live executions, feeling like we’ve traded the 21st century for the Scarlet letter era and a mixture of McCarthyism at the same time.

What has become of the place I was once called home, a place of refuge, to turn around and say that I don’t want to be in this place anymore. It has run its course, and there’s nothing they can do to make it the place it was echoed itself to be in the world.

Cynical, maybe at the tip of my lips, but reality never lies; the mere essence has made singing the choir of many; what the fuck is going on? Where is the nearest exit from this piece of hell that I was called my lover for life? The level of vivaciousness has been extrapolated with the ominous quietness of phlegmatic sanctions that have caused many to choke while having their fixation met at the local BDSM basement in Hell’s Kitchen.

Copyright@ 2022 By Sherley Delia. All rights reserved.