Bitttersweet.

Bittersweet.

It lies not in the wistful glimmer of the thread-like moon,

But in noticing when it dulls and when it brightens, 

And realising it no longer shines to you.

The withering breeze chills and dampens,

The wafting fragrance warms and sweetens.

Knowing that light need not shine through me to reach you,

I celebrate in the lonely darkness, 

As I grieve under the gentle glow.

Bittersweet.

Londonstan

I'm in Central London. 

What is this Central Asian hospitality?

A friend invites me,

With tea, sweet delicacy,

Conversation running,

Clear as the Kyrgyz rivers.

A friend invites me, 

With a chase, a climb,

Autumn leaves blazing,

Bright as the red Alay valleys.

A friend invites me, 

To thoughts where wills diverge.

Contemplative pauses,

Lead to the Beshariq canopy.