Tossed Map Poem by Naveed Akram

He tossed the map from the finger of his right hand,
Wondered at the middle of his month of November
With searching amazement and lonely accusations,
That were a mile away, in the breezes of the west.
I see him back again, in a white raincoat,
Lighting his cigar in a tone of regret,
And hearing a gate being slammed hard too fast,
Inside the house of silver and luscious coins.
A river has won, a river has overburdened the fish
And the animals that wander within the murky waters.
He tossed his map, and managed to be kind to the rain,
With his slightly heavier gaze and beautiful marketplace.