An Autumn Poem by Majid Alhydar

“I feel sorry, deeply sorry,
For…
Every thing”
The old man knows a lot of things,
And in his brief journeys
Between home and the coffee shop
He always carries
The memory of the everlasting desolation..
“I feel sorry
For the city.. about it..
For the fading sun
For the crowned God of Dust
For the fire that no more gives warmth..”
Now the old man is crooning no tune but his cough
“I feel sorry.. for my old house
For it’s mice.. for it’s wooden windows..
For the old magazines..
And the picture of James Dean
Printed in blue”
The old man halts, wipes his eyeglasses
And the cold, non out-of-crying tear drops underneath.
Now he looks at the careless sun..
“Oh, how fast runs this train! ”