Near the chaos
of a big city
I met a man.
On a narrow street,
forgotten,
like a bloodless vessel
in the heart of the city
of the hidden angels.
The man with sharp wit
inquisitive mind
blue shirt
surrounded by pigeons
like a renaissance painting,
sat invisible,
amidst the Asturian architecture.
He pulled a chair,
I quietly sat.
When a man
talks about his son
one should always listen:
my son the musician
my son the artist,
the genius, the soulful,
the embodiment of an ideal;
my daughter
the producer, the writer,
the unrelenting warrior -
my heart
begins pondering my own story.
You can easily measure
the stature of a man
when he,
unaware of his own stature,
is busy elevating others.
When you walk away
from such a man
you can no longer hide
the smallness inside:
I’m filled with tomorrows
haunted by the yesteryears
unaware of beauty,
beneath my feet,
unnoticed,
a few blocks from my home.
In the past
I hurt for men,
sleeping on the edge of buildings
sometimes
so forgotten by themselves that
they fall short,
and lie
on sidewalks
on the edge of the street.
I hurt for them no more,
and I no longer float on clouds
my generous heart creates.
Today I met a man
who wanted nothing from me,
and as I walked away
I finally embraced
all the lost souls in the city:
the homeless, the destitute,
prostitutes, thieves, beggars.
They are no longer
the pitiful
the sorrowful,
the forgotten,
they are what they always were:
they are me,
reflected everywhere.
