4 poems

by Søren Waast

Fort train station

In a bricked up
closed
window  nieche
a woman is sitting
in a worn out
grey sari

She turns her bag
to the people
passing by

At her side
a small bundle
with two tiny arms
two tiny legs
as twigs on a tree

That sari
once gleaming yellow
as a melon

New and unworn
desirable
as a dream
Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof

On Friedrichstrasse Bahnhof
each morning
a man comes

Sits down
at the same place
in the identical way
at the same time
as before

This also takes place
each afternoon

Seen from a distance
a  deceptively
triviality

He will sit there
with pinched eyes
looking straight in front of him

But

A sky high
exodus of birds
with murky strokes of wings
in the air
over a dimmed shoreline
under a faience blue ceiling
with a laceration
of heavy sundrenched evening glow

Resides in him

When the train arrives
he gets up

The sky high exodus
of  birds
will be walking his heels

In a thievish silence

In a thievish silence
when the light
leans against
the late hour of the evening

She comes
on her bike

Afloat
through a dead calm moment

In an equilibrium
and mildness
which seems vanished
into oblivion

So quiet
so quiet

That the taciturnity
is a silent waiting
within the next breath

Slowly, slowly – dreams never forgotten

Lotus Rd.
In the day
the light is carving
down through the heat
as a hoarse knife

In the night
the city streets are blazing
out of hardship
and grow delirium

In broken
empty rooms
stringed up
unscreened bulbs
shed their toxic light

And force the darkness
to hide
along edges and corners

The hunger
the one or the other
always has an accommodation

 

Søren Waast

Hometown:
Copenhagen, Denmark