The streets were left without a heartbeat
The streets were left without a heartbeat
From here I can see the salt air
without any proximity,
...with a lost memory,
the sky is clear,
the sun that passes by taking its last breath.
From here I look
this March afternoon that is slipping into oblivion,
the anonymous streets have run out of steps,
a tense calm
finds us asleep,
leaving us with the feeling
that we're already dead.
What's left is to stay calm.
close the house,
...whispering prayers inside,
to sink your eyes into the silence,
fleeing from the open skies.
Look out the window,
tarnish them with secrets,
keep the faith, light an incense,
to insist on the penumbra,
postponing the days.
Now we're living,
as if we had died...
The streets are orphaned,
They are only,
No one's out there with they,
while suspicions fall,
as the first dead begin to fall.
The homeless and the dogs that accompanied her,
they're gone, too,
fleeing from the breeze that makes them sick.
Poor dying streets,
throbbing and out of breath
while from the sidewalks
people run away
in a never-ending
and dark descent.
¨cierra the house
... whispering prayers adentro¨
In God's hands, my dear friend, and praying that this will end and we will all meet as before.
Shared feelings you leave in your verses, the streets look like scenes from an end of the world movie. A hug.
we will return to the streets as proof that we have survived and are different from before! We'll be back, my friend! We will.
Heartbeat-free streets and orphans, as well as closed and silent houses, are images of your poems that reach us deeply. This unpublished experience for us, only visualized in novels like Dead Houses or some story by García Márquez, will pass and will leave us the lesson of vulnerability, not only individual, but collective. Thank you for your senses poems, @nancybriti.
Thanks for your comments and your endless support, @josemalavem!