Step by step <br />You ascend the culverting <br />Serfs of Belgrade. <br />The scintillating confluence <br />Of Danube and Sava <br />Pierce the thick mist-clouds <br />And paint your face white. <br /> <br />In the streets of the city bright <br />Legless machines <br />Ply like hovering clouds. <br /> <br />Under the varied range <br />Of the spectacular blazers <br />Overcoats and leather jackets, <br />Black slacks fail to hide <br />The incandescence of <br />The bright shining reeds <br />Full of fats. <br /> <br />At the wide Serbidje Square <br />A couple coagulates <br />To the endless mirth, <br />And I behold the flesh <br />Making hay <br />On the palm of morality. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />I just fluff <br />The fire simmering <br />In a puff <br />Holding the pane tightly <br />At a kiosk. <br /> <br />The weather of the city <br />Is unstable <br />And so the ladies. <br />The deceptive wind <br />Turns the bright day <br />Into a day of restless rain, <br />And plug the roads of life instantly. <br /> <br />Men are more gentlemen, <br />Draped in aristocratic attire, <br />And bathed in perfume <br />They gently walk <br />To the tune of ladies <br />And of course the times <br />That whisker away <br />Friskily. <br /> <br />In the chilling cold <br />You aspire hot patrissage, <br />Dream of the pretty faces, <br />Juicy legs, jelly-lips <br />And find the laundry girl <br />Knocking against your door <br />Collecting the spoilt garments.<br /><br />Harish k. Thakur<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-serbidje-square-belgrade/
