Beneath the sky, peacefully gray,
an old man sits, to end the day.
Great wisdom sets his weathered face,
a threadbare coat, outlived by grace.
Black plastic bag slumps at his feet,
secrets kept in silence, discreet.
Beside him, in a hint of shade,
tiny cat rests, friendship is made.
Acknowledgement, with patient eyes,
watching the world that slowly flies.
Tail curled in a half closed loop,
sweet moment in the twilight stoop.
The bench is worn, like hands that shake,
cracked wood remembers each small ache.
It holds him still, it bears his weight,
as time pools round like water, fate.
Held gaze is cast to distant right,
where colors bloom in shades of light.
There, in a hush of pale lagoon,
where breezes hum a forgotten tune.
Flamboyance stands with fragile pride,
flamingos drifting, side by side.
Their mirrored stare, their painted plume,
contrasts the bench, brightens up gloom.
Around them, trees in tangled mass,
rise like tall walls where shadows pass,
fortress of green, so lush and tight,
cloaking the edge of true insight.
The cat beneath, he sits above,
all silent aches, reach out for love.
Yet there they are, in dusk’s embrace,
relaxing in their happy place.
– Grace Y. Estevez – Reddy
Response to Sadje’s picture prompt on What Do You See # 289 May 20, 2025
This weeks prompt offered two picture options. This poem was inspired by both pictures. 💕
