I
It is midnight, and the evening has just started.
I am standing on the porch of Marcela’s house,
And looking out her window to a polished placa
Of shiny stone tiles Catalunyan.
The placa is bordered on one side
With a line of dark green trees,
Dancing in a cool autumn breeze.
And on three other sides stand adorned faces
Of pretty iron balconies and windows like mine.
It is midnight, and people walking on the side street
Look like they’ve just turned twenty,
Playing and wiggling and swiggling.
I witness this play live today.
And smile.
It started with hum of a song today, a song in my heart
When I went to meet those lovers of paradise in hay
Hands in hand, then kisses on the cheek
Beer dos grandes and three puffs of weed
Then we merry merrily walked around
Through stoned streets of El Born…
Snuffing a royal hookah Kashmiri,
Outside a shop sits this old bent lady.
Tonight, she’s reading fairy tales for free!
The more I drift apart,
The more I come back
To being myself.
So pray we may rise, and again fall.
So we may must see it all!
II
A small ball bounced round a small tree in the placa.
And there comes a cute little doggy
Bouncing more than the ball,
So much with life trying to fetch it.
Then I see a man, a very young man,
In the prime and peak of his generative years,
Swinging and posing quickly
For the next football pass to his doggy.
Doggy has a small stature, short legs
With a long flowy fur body, and dangling flappy ears.
He jumps around for the ball,
And his long and black silk swirls
With sudden gusts of the whispering breeze
Showing shades of snow white underneath.
He looks so beautiful,
So lively, so joyful, I could die.
He embodies all bloom
So fresh, so wild,
Mori ami more jai.
He has a white streak,
Through the middle of his forehead.
And he looks so more handsome with that!
His tail looks like a tight oblong ball
Of strewn wool, vibrating vigorously
When he waits impatiently for the long pass.
It looks funny. But being funny has its own joy.
So much so as being joyful has its own fun.
It is past midnight, and I witness. Smiling.
III
A woman appears then after.
She has short n black curly hair.
And I can say,
That she has spent almost all
Heavy years of her life, already.
Now she’s turned alive again,
The most she has ever been!
Her supple skin shining
In halogen white
From such a distance,
Refreshes me to my fingertips.
She exchanges a sweet glance
Dipped in a smile with the man,
Who has the ball tightly placed
Under his sneakered right foot.
Few words I hear them say,
So I know they are neighbors.
And then Doggy starts a wiggle-tail
So vehemently, feet jumping in the air
To greet this lady as excitingly as he could.
So the man and the woman played with Doggy,
Eyeing him, talking to him, teasing him with the ball.
Dekhi ami dekhe jai
Hathrey shatrey dube jai
Now slo-w-ly lost in me I be-come
In a rich velvet prussian sky
And I see, my eyes dripping in love, just being witness
To this heart melting moment in time!
So sublime!
IV
Marcela asks,
Rito, are you here?
I wake, gather myself and turn.
And I see her grin,
In a way no one else
Must have never noticed.
In her grin she is, and you can never see.
You have to see her through her.
It is not something you will see
When you look at her,
Or talk to her,
Or make love to her.
You see it only when you look closer,
A lot closer; it comes from where she breathes.
Marcela, I want to breathe you,
When you breathe a li’l closer.
Marcela, I want to become you
As you become my mother.
As a quiet baby in her womb,
I try to match her grin in a way
And say, I’m just having fun!
The truth is,
At this very moment,
This very present moment,
I am feeling pure golden jovial joy.
I feel I am alive.
I feel I am living.
I feel I am life.
