He always roams around,
a grey-headed wanderer
with an endless meow.
Soft paws trace the road,
gliding over rooftops.
A silent leap - he lands on a balcony
among frozen peonies.
Yellow eyes watch intently,
unblinking, still.
He sees the darkening night
and the moon hanging chill.
Gloom descends upon the city,
whispers drift through the world.
They speak together -
that cat and a blackened spot.
Fleeting murmurs
on a wooden branch in the park -
only the old oak knows
what was said in the dark.
The city breathes in fog
and exhales dim light,
the night air’s coolness
whispering prayers at twilight.
A quick slip into the shop -
white concrete, creaking floors.
Do you know that cat?
He’s always near, but never your’s.
06.03.2025
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