Deserted windows
Empty now
no one looking out.
No sounds of children playing.
No birds resting
waiting for a crumb of bread.
No poets
sitting on your ledge,
watching goings on
on streets below.
Reporting to the world beyond
passionate fantasies.
Dreams…
as yet untold.
Why do your fading colors,
your falling
c
h
i
p
s
of sea green paint
Illicit such emotion in me?
The amateur photographer
more poet
than lens or eye.
Who stumbled
upon your timeless beauty
Yesterday…
Walking a deserted street
one warm November afternoon…
…alone.
All rights reserved. ©2009 by Sara Fryd
Photography & Poetry by Sara Fryd*
*The photographs were taken November 1990. If you took below the first photograph there is a piece of paper with the words “me poeme” (my poem) in Spanish. I started writing March 1991. Four months before I started writing, God left me a note on a wall in San Jan, Puerto Rico to pursue something I had never done.
