Tuesday, July 14, 2015



After breakfast at the Hotel Continental,
The orange juice cool, pure,
We venture out,
Arm in arm-
For safety-
Into bustling, dusty, streets.
A tsunami of noise hits us,
Makes us draw back.
Traffic - six lanes-
Hooting horns screeching-
Engines revving-
Making music with 
Constant tinkling of bells 
From the bikes 
As they weave through 
Disinterested people,
Who, like squawking seagulls,
Swarm along overflowing pavements.

First impressions of Beijing...

Like debris we are swept unwillingly
In this fast flowing river.
We look up
High rise, anonymous
Dirty, grey structures,
Imprison ants 
Whose hope is 
A fleck of blue
Beside us as we hurry by,
Shops selling 
Tea, fans, chinese hats,
Beckon us,
Aromatic bouquets excite our nostrils.
In a side street,
We take a rest,
In a Japanese Cafe.
They tell us:
"Don't eat the food here,
It's mostly dog"
We sip a beer 
And ponder
How we'll get back to the hotel.


  1. I love the cacophony of sounds in this poem. Also, colours, little details... You have painted the streets of Beijing in such a way that I feel I have been there myself.

  2. Thanks Natasa. It's good to get positive feedback.


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