They say Paris and romance

go hand-in-hand, 

like lovers strolling leisurely

along the banks of Seine

with eyes meant only for one another, 

and the beauty that only

springs around them.

But soon even this City of Love

towers over them

and tires them,

as they retreat to their 

own private eden

enclosed, distant and to outsiders forbidden.

And caught in the aligned,

tree-lined spider mesh that is Paris,

we sat drinking coffee and croissants 

on the table of a packed café

that spilled out into the streets.

In a city built for the 

sights and the senses,

that, like a beautiful woman

 retaining her reserved sensuality

with her declining age,

bewitches a young man with her elegance, fineries.

But as if she exists in two realms,

only understood by Seine’s subtle bends,

she transforms into

 a young woman in love

who gives you her everything

while retaining

her innocence,

purity and charm.

But beware, oh, new,

novice lovers

easily mesmerized by looks.

Try to see beyond 

flower filled balconies

and windows

with the sun glinting on them.

Because like the way she navigates the

boundary of the old and the new,

crisscrossing bridges

that stitch and bind her,

you will find that she also wears

two faces- one she displays with

all the rouge and perfume of the worlds.

The other she only reveals

to those who

have patience enough, and passion, to look

Looking intently at the surviving

jingle jangle of love locks

at the Pontes Des Arts,

pairs, arm-in-arm, stroll

 leisurely across the arch bridge;

as if seeking blessing for their

own committed love 

from those who had

climbed the pedestal

before them

And in the labyrinth

of the busy Parisian metropolitan,

a frazzled middle-aged woman

wearing grey jacket,

with her purse dangling down from her fingers,

remains standing statue-like

and staring with her wide, cold eyes

at nothing in particular,

like an evening Owl on a tree top.

People walk swiftly past her

on the very busy passageway

throwing not so even as a glance.