I like trivial things about a city, the so-called unimportant.
The things that links and most people leave out.
The church, the palace, the museum,
The king and legends of martyrdom,
All that and more I’d see, but first
it’s the little things that draws me to them.
The choreography of people, the musician playing flute;
bikes, trams and the aroma of savory food;
The wrought iron balconies, glittering in afternoon sun,
The colors of pavement stones,
The lamp post, intertwined trees, the narrow lanes,
Red, blues, yellow and orange.
The house with bricks and half timbered facade,
The green window sills, the stand of magnets and post cards,
To see, observe and capture in the little time span,
For there’s something magical, when all juxtaposed,
The liveliness in the stillness, Behold.
The things that links and most people leave out.
The church, the palace, the museum,
The king and legends of martyrdom,
All that and more I’d see, but first
it’s the little things that draws me to them.
The choreography of people, the musician playing flute;
bikes, trams and the aroma of savory food;
The wrought iron balconies, glittering in afternoon sun,
The colors of pavement stones,
The lamp post, intertwined trees, the narrow lanes,
Red, blues, yellow and orange.
The house with bricks and half timbered facade,
The green window sills, the stand of magnets and post cards,
To see, observe and capture in the little time span,
For there’s something magical, when all juxtaposed,
The liveliness in the stillness, Behold.
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