At Lunch - Long Time Ago

Inside a small bistro,

that overlooks the ocean,

that holds no memories,  

nor vision of a future;

At nearby white clothed table,

in that long departed afternoon,

the time was having glass of port,

relaxing quietly and dozing.

Enjoying wordlessly with you

the frivolous, white, luscious hairs

of bold, tall waves that never sleep,

to dance on their appealing shoulders.

Into the darkening

September sky,

colossal, made of clouds old gods 

were fighting.

We called our past

(that day our maître d')

to bring us second glass of wine, 

before the day was really over.

That past was young,

and careless, foolish -

so full with hope

and unfulfilled, sweet dreaming.

We paid our bill.

The wine was over.

We tipped our past

then we were gone. 

A Peaceful Sleep of A Ginger Cat On A Large Copper Plate

When I’m doubt

about the future,

in recent days

I’m constantly in doubt…

I’m trying hard,

persistently to hold on

to an image from the past  –

a ginger-red, large dozing cat.

We exited with you

that summer day

the lovely mom-and-pop bistro

that oversees the sea, as well the brutal ancient cliffs.

That distant summer,

walking slowly – care free,

we saw that sleeping cat,

an omen maybe, maybe just a cat…

Behind a fence of pallid stones,

on yellow table on a copper pan,

the cat was snoozing

peacefully-relaxed.

Around the red, magnificent feline

we counted dozen little copies

her sleeping kittens –

so safe, so care-free…

I hugged you, and you hugged me,

and for a moment

the peaceful image just fitted

in the harmony of the universe and time.

We passed them by

and left them to their dreams

to walk into the afternoon

and into the rest of our life.