I walk the streets of this city, without a plan in my head,
I hope to find, perhaps randomly, those that were not left for dead,
but all I find are just eyes that look out, looking for comfort instead.
I sit at my favourite table, deep in the dark, corner bar,
and take my tea with my neighbour, watching the street full of cars, everyone seems to be moving away, and we’re being left at the bar…
This place, a forgotten valley, where nothing grows or remains,
antennas replace the flowers, and sadness replaces pain, and these silent days surround us, with a force we can’t escape.
The dead lie peacefully resting, while we sip bitter champagne,
the little children are restless, they’re seeking a better game, because the games that their fathers taught them, they just can’t play them again.
I return home to the shadows, to light my third cigarette,
whistling songs that no one knows, and write some words in my head, perhaps I’ll leave in the morning, but now I’m heading to bed.
Yet again tomorrow, I’ll walk the silent streets full of rubbish and dread,
in this city where I have spent, hundreds of lifetimes while dead…
Now melodies among the silent winds, caress my weary head.
Yes, melodies within the humming trees, remind me of things that I’ve said…
C.2021, Francesc Bravo Cabrera, 29/07/2021, Turkey