purple and white

He steps off the train on the edge of the city,
Not seeing the looks of amusement and pity:
A tired man in an old crumpled coat,
A little too thin for the cold.

He walks all the way without looking up
From his purple and white polka dot paper cup
With a bonsai tree, held tight in his hands,
The passers-by turning their heads.

There he goes, they think,
Back home, all alone,
Just him and his tree,
And a silent phone,
An empty house
With stacks of books,
A dusty kitchen
Where no one cooks.

No doubt in their mind - chances are slim
That someone is waiting for him.

A kiss at the door and a quick gentle touch,
Not saying a word but saying so much,
Her face lighting up the minute she spots
The purple and white polka dots.

A soul mate, a lover, a school sweetheart -
All this and much more, all the way from the start, 
A colourful world in each other’s thoughts,
Purple and white polka dots.

He’s a little bit stuck in his comfort zone,
A little bit clumsy and accident prone,
But he makes her laugh till she begs him to stop,
Turns her heart to a spinning top.

She’s a little eccentric, her jokes are strange,
A bit of a rebel, not willing to change,
But her smiling eyes make him want to sing,
Turn the middle of winter to spring.

Funny couple, they say,
Two of a kind,
Always walk hand in hand,
Their fingers entwined.
He’s old, she’s young,
Such a curious sight:
Her hair’s dyed purple,
His hair’s almost white.

A bond between them that’s hard to miss:
He’s her warm little flame, she is his.

They have their moments, don’t always agree,
But they share a great love for their bonsai trees:
A lifetime collection of little clay pots
Hand-painted with polka dots.

A soul mate, a lover, a school sweetheart -
All this and much more, all the way from the start, 
A colourful world in each other’s thoughts,
Purple and white polka dots.


Jacaranda by Violetta Kurbanova