As I walk o’er Blackfriars Bridge
I contemplate the Thames;
The tide is out,
And pebbled shores
Reveal the treasure
Once concealed beneath the waves.
Their watery blanket
Shielding them from the grey clouds
Forming patterns in the sky.
I view the vista before me
of trains and boats and cars, and
Cyclists, on their borrowed bikes
Tube trains felt under-foot,
Their rumblings below my shoes
Almost as loud as my hunger.
For this city
A rhythmic metronome for the metropolis
A pulsating beat
An ever-changing landscape…
I shall return tomorrow
And I will not recognise my scene
For this cannot be preserved.
London’s chameleon skin will have morphed
Into something unrecognisable
from the here and now.
Grey skies may disappear
Revealing the smirking sun
Cocky, in its reverie.
Or damp pavements
littered with disgruntled commuters
Hurrying towards their vocations.
Such are London’s streets; unique
2014 Copyrighted by Ange Chan. May not be reproduced in any format without the expressed permission from the author.