Thinking about the Past (Part II)
A new day has come, and we are on a walk –
The city is very silent today, as usual, however.
Its eyes are closed and it bothers me –
I cannot decipher the cluster of thoughts that have been tossing in its head.
It does not open its eyes even for a second.
I get nervous and worried –
What if it never lets me join the secret club of quietness?
What if I never feel joyous and vivacious with the parabolas of its jumping?
What if I cannot taste the bitterness of its tears on my lips?
I look at the city and imagine all these crumbs of my existence with horror…
I do not want it to leave me. I have never called it “he”, though I badly needed it.
The city lies on the ground and chuckles.
Chuckles! When I feel so terribly… I will call it “he” anyway some time.
I will never forgive myself this weakness, but I will certainly lose control,
Because I want to lose it. I want the city to supervise me.
How stubborn it is! I ask, and plea, and swallow the promises, but it won’t do it.
It has vowed sobriety and chastity.
Sometimes, I’m even sure I understand the city.
I take its paw and count the toes. They are as smooth as the ice on the Bondi Ice Rink.
The city looks at me (at last) and its eyes show me the panorama from Sydney Tower.
I look carefully at every single window and see people passing by inside.
Several seconds melt before I notice that the city’s fur is growing damp…
When did it begin crying? I wonder. At what moment of my fancy journey?
It will never tell me though. And I do not need to know it –
I just take it into my hands, as it has diminished to the size of a kitten, as though shrunk away.
I can see its glossy fur starting to move slowly,
It’s breathing has become very profound and remote.
It has fallen asleep.