Saturday, June 18, 2011


In his ciudad natal de Barcelona
We share a small townhouse on the street
He paints with acrylics all day long
In his wrinkled clothes and bare feet

All three of those reside somewhere in him
Passion, lust and their friend greed
Women too visit him often must I add
To surrender to his daily needs

I too admire him from across the habitación
Some days our eyes too converse
His stare sends shivers down my spine
In his aura I'm religiously immersed

He has never sold a single painting ever
They all rest against the molded wall
He did donate a couple however
They hang proudly somewhere at city hall

Every night a damsel arrives
Through the broken back door
Oblivious to my commitment towards him
My love he usually tends to ignore

Ironic it is as years pass by
He gets old as I stay young
About my beauty references are made
For I am the greatest all others amongst

Many years have gone by since then
He is as old as one could get
The women stopped visiting too
All the blondes and the brunettes

In our ciudad natal de Barcelona
He lays on his death bed in front of me
I live in a portrait he once made
The name you see is...Amelie


Maira said...

This is worth publishing. How did you come up with such a piece? it's beyond beautiful.

Anonymous said...

This is amazing. One of the best poems I have ever read(and I am including the likes of Whitman and Wordsworth) Respect.

rainboy said...

beautifully penned .

the imagery that your words gave me was superb ...
take care

Noor Ali said...

This is brilliant!!

Really. xongratulations

Noor Ali said...

Yes, you derive strength from your values.

I have to say this again, this Amelie is so beautifully written.

MothSmokeLover said...

@ Noor - Thanks a lot for appreciating it. :)

MothSmokeLover said...

@ Maira - Thankyou. It just happened. Can't recall the thought process. :)

@ The Lover - Oh my. I am blushing. Thanks a bunch.

@ Rain Boy - Thankyou and do visit again!.