She chases, with an obsessive whim, a state of mind,
something that she hope’s will take her back in time,
like a spirit so mysterious,
or a ghost that feigns deliriums,
she will hunt the haunted dreamers
and leave the scene of the crime.
She watches her reflexion strolling by,
On the sidewalks and the waste that on them lie,
and she’s gathered folk for dinner,
some are losers, some are winners,
but they’re friends,
until the end,
there’s nothing more she could try.
She always carries a big, ostentatious leather bag,
Black and gold and red in back.
And inside you’ll find her vanity,
which seems to absorb insanity,
and nothing more, a mirror’s what you will find…
She chases what she thinks of as a dream,
reality, for her, is what has never been.
She’s nostalgic of the past,
a past that was never real,
and her present is no longer
a place where she can abide.
Yellow words and deep dark phrases rule her mind,
in a room where there’s no way to tell the time,
if it’s time for tea and flowers,
time for sunsets every hour,
it’s a pity
but the city,
cannot survive without her footsteps at night.
She chases an impression of her youth,
all the lies that she confessed are now the truth,
a prolific histrionic,
she’s a presence
and the essence
of all the thoughts I never wanted to find…
Via: Francisco Bravo Cabrera
C.2020, Francisco Bravo Cabrera, 14 JAN 2020, Valencia, Spain,