Friday, November 15, 2013

In Berlin

when the evening came,
all of us were lamps
on the streets.

Kreuzberg was lights - and cheap kebabs -
was green walls scratched doors
pavements and
boys.

One tall German, white,
who had lost his boyfriend
last year in a room in London -
spoke only of him that night.
He was almost seven ft.
and his eyes were
only longing.

An American student, his friend,
who had sex on his mind - like us -
who spoke like T-shirt messages,
who sewed smiles to his face, he
drank the most among us.

One Marathi playwright - we remained in touch -
whose German, of six months learning,
was so great to hear I asked him
to order beer again and again
just to hear his 'danke.'

Another boy whose elbows
rested unevenly on the bar, who
just about sat on the stool,
- his black-shirt cold with sweat
and his eyes whiskied irises -
made it through
that night - think he went back
with mr. 'danke'.

One Dutch boy - whose name meant 'light' -
showed me the best part of Berlin -
one small Holiday Inn room,
4 stations by the U-Bahn,
after which when the morning
came, it was all sun,
all sun when the morning came

to Berlin that night.

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