My City

October 21, 2011 § 9 Comments

I’ve walked these streets
19 years old and 3 am in August nights
when most of the city had moved
back to their villages
for August is our Emperor.

Hot nights, white cotton nights, dancing nights.
My love would love to have given me a ride
(with his motorbike)
but I’d tell him, I wanted to walk.
And so I’d walk in the warm belly of the city
till I’d reach its heart and jump up and down in its rhythm
feet bare and now dirty.

And then I’d take the taxi home.
He, also a student, maybe even from my village, maybe my cousin,
he’d send me kisses through the mirrors.

Once or twice I lost my wallet somewhere in the city
and my wallet came back.

Once or twice a poet made love to me
and my words came back.

Once or twice my younger sister visited me
and I sat with her silent under a statue.
(The statue did all the talking.)

There were people dreaming in their narrow apartments.

There were people calling their relatives in telephone booths, using ancient coins.

Where have you gone my happy city?
It comforts me to say “I love you”.

Advertisements

§ 9 Responses to My City

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

What’s this?

You are currently reading My City at I was not born in English.

meta

%d bloggers like this: