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The Old Quarter

A poem.

By Yanto AddaPublished 4 years ago 1 min read
2

We decided to divide the city

The Old Quarter would be the place containing schooldays

It was years behind, this zone

So you could go back there if you wanted

Buy a return to your childhood

Exchange your experience for your innocence

You couldn’t make it your home.

And yet many people tried

We had to block the quarter, conduct evictions, erect a giant barricade

The peace wall, we called it, though in fact it was the opposite

Adults wept. Pressed their faces into concrete

Calling out to lost children

An economy grew around the wall

People selling postcards and mementos. Trinkets from the other side

I went there myself once

To observe the mystery of the human spirit

The way it creates idols out of absence

We had to understand it, in order to monetise the attraction

Touching the wall, I confess, I felt something

An almost physical impulse - a reminder of a former citizen

An anxious boy, with kind eyes

Who dreamed of towering cityscapes

Who dreamed of the future

Who never dreamed of dereliction

surreal poetry
2

About the Creator

Yanto Adda

There were three cats that congregated on the roof of the house at the corner of the apartment block, uncoiling in the sun, eyes closed, breathing calm and slow.

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