On a bench of relief
I sat. My pen green
At Bloomsburry gardens seen
By the wind like a leaf

To the publishing house around
I submitted my rhymes– this garden
Is against my literary gambling a warden
Behind those doors I heard a different sound

I toss the written coin–Head or tail?
London is a greedy squirrel searching litters
Would you British bustling bushy tail
Want to keep my tale and like my letters?

On a bench of hope
I dreamt–about poetry
My treasured sole trope
Lent to someone else’s industry

Bloomsburry I say your name
House of many a request
Your doorstep is my conquest
But what is, to freedom, fame?

December 15, 2015
Bloomsburry Square Gardens
London