Vincent van Gogh
Café Terrace at Night
Oil on canvas
Kröller-Müller MuseumOtterlo

The city is silent

I walk up and down

This place seems abandoned

No movement, no sound.

Tall houses of bricks

Stand up from the ground

The street lights are cold,

No movement, no sound.

Two brothers in arms,

A bum and a hound,

Sleep down on the pavement

No movement, no sound.

A worker emerges

And throws them a pound,

The poor stand together,

No movement, no sound.

And me? Why I’m here?

And what have I found?

The world is the same,

No movement, no sound.

The Cherry Tree

That Thursday was sweaty,

Its air, warm and sweet,

A wine made us chatty,

We savoured fresh meat.

The red summer berries

Were bleeding on plates

Ensnaring the flies,

Thus, ending their fates.

Nearby, like a king,

A proud cherry tree

Was shaking its fruits

Enchanting a bee.

Its cherries were heavy,

As dark as the night,

The wasps bit their pulp

And swarmed with delight.

But then I saw more,

For perched on the branches

Were two lazy pigeons

Both taking their chances.

That moment is gone,

But if I’ll display

This painting of words

That moment might stay.

That summer in London

The weather was hot,

A tree bore its cherries

And left them to rot.

(To all the wonderful people I met in London throughout the years)