with an italian song
in his heart
imagining the canal waters of venice
the gondola and the
woman beside him
he walks out the
busy street
struts around and hums
life is beautiful
the city is alive
he feels the pain on
his shoulder
the flesh is trembling
the eyes blur
at a distance he only
sees outlines
like a Manet painting
the buttons of his
shirt are not complete
something is missing
always something is missing
in between all these
there is nothing to hold now
not even a cane
not even a child's hand
or someone who knows you
and takes a glance about
what you feel
for his stability
the old man is weak
and burdened
the city sees him as
everyone else's
for in this corner of
the world
amidst the crowd the rubble and
the babble
no one is significant.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem