The Lost City

My hometown, my lost friend,

thank you for greeting me once again,

at a time when we both are lost.

When I wander your streets,

you also wander within me,

weaved into my thoughts.

Winding down to your core,

to the oldest part of you,

I finally remember your last hug.

I left you in chase of dreams,

but the silence of your smooth brick walls

always called me back, haunting me to recall my origin.

Do you remember when I climbed up your bosom?

Swept up to your canals on the rustle of your voice in the wind?

I remember cycling up streets of yours,

through rows of antiquated shops,

the vast green fields coming into view.

I stretched on your arms and legs to the sand hills,

where your voice blew fainter than a whisper.

Your vast cemetery is a reminder of where we stand in relation.

And how in death, you hold us tight against your bosom still.

I know that your greens and parks are like your dreams.

And your slums, your plazas, are your nightmares.

How granite manors, dilapidated ruins of industry,

slums, and cafes dot your skin harmoniously.

Now I glance your history over thick stone railings.

Modernity to your face makes you sad,

an unclouded glimpses of your ancient face cries,

and I’m here to wipe your tears.

Your hug brings back my pleasures.

Some are darkened subconscious – like late nights walks,

embedded in drunken haze, winding to romanticism of my youth.

Others are gracefully vivid, the walks through the mango gardens,

holding my father’s hand, and dreaming of unknown world.

Now winding down to your core, to the oldest part of you,

I finally remember your name.

It rolls off my tongue like the sound plucked strings off a harp.

It is there that I know who you were.

It is then that your message –

– brings me peace in its clarity once more.

You are like the rediscovery of an old photograph –

bringing me peace in its clarity once more.

You are the city that made me,

and to who I owe my fondest memories.

Heed that I am older now,

I walk a shorter pace and sleep a longer hour.

Beautiful women in spring, in the sun,

only bring nostalgic sorrow to my heart,

I long to find you one last time.

My hometown, my lost friend.