A Walk Through Bleakvale

By Praneet Sarkar

A wanderer; loitering, lingering; twiddling thumbs,

Thrilled by the peeping blinder;

A carriage! "Where to, Mikhail?"

"Home...to good ol' Bleakvale!"

A modest moon, its hesitant gaze,

Its meager stab at the wintry haze.

The fluorescent lamp - a requisite augment

For any observer in the open maze.

First stop - the lake; an abandoned lake.

Benched and lamped throughout the stretch.

Lay there a statue of a man silently seated, drowning

In a lucent maneuver; intrigued.

The wondrous mind, the image; picturesque...

An image distinctly worth a sketch.

The luring invitation to a proximate park...

A saunter through the muted streets;

The tapering path; seemingly broad.

Orderly lined outlets, inns and eateries.

A restrained night, the road; unblemished.

And the rapt melody of the grounded lark.

"Ecstasy Park" - here we arrive!

Street lamps; few employed of the lot,

Cherry trees; their scarlet black,

A familiar couple; the stroll from the back,

My regular wave, their omitting drive,

Now leaps to mind an idea unthought.

The abrupt sprinkle of crystal and flake

Atop the clinging leaves of black;

A true indication of a late late night.

A familiar residence steals the sight;

"Private Property" - a rusty sign.

A concluding stare at the night so fine.

The rattling keys, the squeaking door,

The resisting retreat, and a lust for more...

By Praneet Sarkar