Jorge Enrique
City . . .
City . . .
To Paris
Proclaim not your dreams City,
the winds veil your face.
My flesh ambles your fringes,
shivering in the cold under a gauzy moon
your walls are unfriendly and rude.
Only you and I, City, know the secret.
A fleeting desire, I will not feign
before your sea, your palaces, or your cathedrals.
City, you call me not...
Am I still a stranger to you?
Has the sun beguiled me into your snares
while I bloat in my chest ideas
and endless memories?
City,
where I once belonged,
today you’re but a heap of waxing futile illusions
in a mossy urb.
City,
where I was once a child,
you still hold me back while denying me the impossible
in your warm and salty breeze,
but your clatter and din will remain in my bleeding sky.
Jorge Enrique Gonzalez
Pacheco
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