The Coming

I see the collapsing star
Crawling down la rue Saint Marthe
Surrounded by a purple moisturizing fog
Singing its last chant
And I see the three years ago Paris
Cold and happy
Now uncertain but walking
You were there, I wasn´t
All your soft white orchid skin
Screaming at the sun
Lying on the road
Drunk with all the doubts of youth
Speechless, inprisoned, wanted
I see the master walking alone
With a bag full of his poems
A Zen heart and soul
And no daugther at the moment
Just memories, potencial poems
And young lovers
Waiting for the moment to come
And enlight us with joy
At the left bank of the river
Where our ancestros died
Out of dunken visions
Some orgasms ago
Our heros still live
In the city of lights and darkness
And Medellín stands proud
Loved by poets and drug dealers
Almost clean and safe
I can´t go back home
To that place where is hard to be felt
And hard to feel free
Because Im not beautiful
Im just a clown
A confused soul among winter statues
Unable to smile nor cry
Just that…

Carlos Dominguez Lloret, september 2008

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