Scents

But their scent remains.

I smell chocolate
and pipe smoke
and
perfume.

Some people walk bikes.
Others disobey and ride.

The sun obscures them.
They turn into shadows.

But their scent remains.
Legacies of their existence.

Lasting until the next breeze.

Like the pitter-patter of footsteps and conversations
vanishing in echoes.

So too,
heartbeats
and exhalations.

All of them
running out
of time.

A poem by Pemba Umoja