In Camden,
Its not just about the hustle and bustle of everything,
During the morning time,
When the shutters are up,
And the market gates are open for trade,
Its not just about the tourists that walk around,
Camcorder in one hand and the map in the other,
Trying to find the right places and right time,
It is more than that.
As you step out of the station,
Where some pigeons may gather
To eat the last remains of fish and chips,
A tramp may be after you for a 50p change,
Or you may have a buzz around your ears,
O! Want marijuana,skunk,weed...
That seems to come from everywhere.
You may meet,
Punks in groups sitting or standing,
A bearded man on a microphone
Wearing a plastic vest with God written on,
Plenty of food stalls on your side,
Yummy the air your nose can't hide,
And in the Sunday afternoon crowd,
You can hear loud horns,
A busker sliding his guitar
Boats coming and going in the Lock,
You can see,
People wandering about.
In Camden,
It is not just about seeing these things,
Everywhere,
A mix of joy and sadness our life brings.
An account of adventures in Scandinavia that involved flying dragons, Russian and German submarines, old WW2 era battlefields, Finnish foxes (female kind), Finnish-Mexican cuisine and much more. Written for the most part with a light touch, it ends o
Expands beyond the safety of pages bound by predictability to explore and often confirm exciting creative possibilities. A shimmering collage of memoir, creative nonfiction, literary journalism, and dizzying flights into poetic observation, this is t
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Micke
Paul;-)
And you've penned it quite well, Roshan.