Monday, November 8, 2010

Alone in my solitude

Time to share another poem. This one was written in 2006, when I thought I would complete a second poetry collection. Somehow, however, life had taken a different path and I ended up concentrating on fiction instead. 


Alone in my solitude

It's Christmas...
for some reason,
people call it the happiest time.
Yet I,
alone in a hotel room.
My face in the speckled mirror
a reflection,
almost unrecognizable.
An empty room
small bed, two tables
even the sheets are rented.

Alone in my solitude
strange Spanish coastal town
whose name sounds so unfamiliar. 
I roll it on my tongue.

Alone in a hotel room
solitude amidst rented objects
do I belong?
Seeking answers
but the bottle of Scotch
doesn't want to talk to me.
The small barred window
only eludes escape
still, the only view
is just another concrete wall.

Alone in my solitude
I walk down the promenade
so many years after the Moors
traded on these beaches,
so many years after the British and French
fought over this land.
I cannot relate.

It's Christmas
and there was no truth at the bottom
of my bottle,
only more solitude.

The bars are full of people
faces red with happiness and tears
I am not capable of either.

Alone in my solitude
right after you said goodbye
only a hundred miles away.
Still, unreachable
as if a thousand years separated our path.

Alone in my solitude
listening to the Andalusian women
singing Flamenco
on this glorious day.

Copyright 2006 by Henry Martin

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