Nocturne

by EKPoet

ABOUT EKPOET EKPoet is a habitual writer for many many years now. He started writing stories when he was ten, and then became interested in poetry in high school and college. He studied english poetry in college, has a degree in english, and did his thesis on comparing the poetry of W B Yeats and Seaumus Heaney. He has been writing poetry for 27 years, has completed two books, which are currently being posted, and is writing short stories currently. He loves music, art, travel, and literature and always can be found poolside with a book of some kind or other. Portfolio | Become A Fan

I look up at the streetlights above the streets Illuminated with all of that electric light Stretched across the sky on the wires between the poles So bright, you cannot see the stars. And the long, long blocks of concrete blocks Stretch away down the street out of sight, Dead with traffic and concrete office buildings That you cannot ever see beyond. All of the people up in their apartments, Standing at their windows Seem to be peering out of their blinds at me, Watching me standing still in my confusion, Composing my poetry out of their buildings And their lamps, their television sets. I think of all those people up in their apartments As I look through all of those address numbers Printed on metal plates in front of each door, Imagining a kitchen lit by electric light, A woman making a cup of tea over a warm stove, A book of poetry lying on the kitchen table Unopened. The cold, dark concrete under my feet, The cold, electric lit-up air Echoes and resonates with each step As I pass the closed, dark doors And the windows with their shades pulled down, Stoops and gardens I do not recognize, And nobody watching recognizes me. Alone, utterly alone, somewhere in this greatest of cities, I listen to the elevated trains on their long journies, Watch the faces alone in each of the windows, Stare at the points of the hundreds of skyscrapers Collecting the dreams of all of those strangers Living in the apartments of their apartment buildings, Somehow more like the light of the streetlights Than the lively conversations in their little rooms