By Ellen Marchese
They drift like petals, to and fro:
a vari-colored multitude;
bright saris, sturdy calico,
a turbaned head, a fancy ‘dude’,
in dazzling dissimilitude.
Soft sounds on fragile air are hung,
rich rhythms resonate and spill
--a polyglot of mother tongues:
melodic, guttural or shrill;
the fleeting phrases, vibratile.
The cream of Island lilt is slurred,
a Muslim intonates a prayer,
the grit of ghetto is interred
and Asian sing-song pocks the air
as echoes haunt this thoroughfare.
Each voyager, his path pursues,
joint dweller of the universe,
odd earthlings of a hundred hues,
each one distinctively diverse
--converge, touch shoulders and disperse.
They drift, like petals, to and fro:
Pietro, Su Li, Ahmed, Joe.
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