Nationless
open windows
music on vinyl
a warm breeze rendered idle
by the season’s sentiments: idyllic and naive
yet all my thoughts are held captive
by a place beyond these lovely trees
where the windows opened wider
the music played softer
and the breeze used to stay and talk with me for a moment or two
before greeting my town as it pleased
on the windows would be birds
who offered company for crumbs
knowing I’d welcome them everyday,
for I was as constant as the cement of the bricks
I laid my head upon
on these restless summer days
as sure as the Parliament at the west
and the ruins of the East
I would sit:
a canonical fixture of this enchanted life I Iead
the city’s heart in my hands
But here I have only charming fantasies
a few fleeting memories that change their sheen with the sun
sometimes brighter, better
but a cloud flies by another
and it slips once again out of my reach
But I know
one day I will return
recalling every brick and bird as I pass
There! my father would sit and swing
my hands pushing against its chains
There! my brother would sing as we climbed every tree for its fruit
and with the memory of its juice
I taste on my tongue what life had once promised
maybe I’ll nudge it for a moment or two
and with its lilting stride,
I will have recovered purpose in the hands
with which I tore my life apart
hands that in the midst of the storm, clutched onto the mast
like prayers to a false prophet
a cautionary tale for those who hold to hope
I will once again be whole.
***
Here I am
it’s nothing like I remember
in my fantasy
the swing creaked too loud and was replaced
but now upon its perch a new father swings
No unsteady melodies pierce the silent scene
only the breaking of bricks and mortar by their machines
the fruit is not sweet
and without the sanction of his shoulders
it grows a little bit out of reach
the birds do not recognize me
nor I the people and their streets
so I close my eyes to feel the breeze
and am rewarded with a hostile smoke
I beg the winds: let me keep coming home to you
they only whistle in reply.
the winds which I seek have grown up and moved on
as should I
So I look upon the outside
of the only place that has spoken my name with liberty
limbless, and unnamed
an exiled king, clawing at the city gates
but this time I am wiser, perhaps weaker
so I clutch my hat and coat
and take the path of many decades past
my trailing steps speaking of repeated histories
Thus is the tale
of how 30 years of silent reminiscence
are destroyed in 30 minutes of reality