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The poet and the old man
I was sitting on a bench in this park, there was a lake, it was 5:45 pm. I was tired and decided to sit down to take a break and smoke some cigarettes.
My head was somewhere or someone. I think I cared more about Jane at that moment than being fired. It was a little chilly, it was autumn and the wind was blowing, which I liked.
As I was smoking I was approached by this man, visually elderly, with a long coat and a cane in his right hand.
I noticed that he wanted to take a seat, so I threw away my cigarette and moved a little so that he would take a seat.
The old man sat down, put on his coat, stretched his legs, looked tired and a bit worn out. He had a sad, melancholic look, as if he had lost something.
-Good afternoon- i greeted.
- Hello, boy.
-Uhh, Are you feeling well? -I asked out of curiosity.
-Yes... kind of, you know- with a weak smile and a straight ahead look.
I didn't want to ask if something had happened to him, I felt that it would make him uncomfortable in some way, so I asked something simpler...
-What is your name, sir?
-I'm Roger, boy...
-I'm Dan, well... that's what my friends and family call me, but my name it's Danny.
I felt a little uncomfortable the silence in the environment.
-What's that," I asked pointing to the side of my right leg.
-Eh... those are cigarettes I bought.
-I don't mean that, the notebook below.
-Oh... you mean this, it's my notebook where i write poems in my spare time-I answered with the notebook in my hand.
-So you write poems, interesting. It's a good way to expose your voice in verses.
-Yes sir, but i'm not that good," I answered.
-Well... that would have to be checked, why don't you read some- he said as he rubbed his hands together in the cold.
I thought about it for a while, I didn't usually read my poems to people. There were the two of us, so I opted to do it, besides I wanted the opinion of an adult.
-Okay, give me a second, I'll look for one.
I started to look for one, I flipped through the pages looking for one that i thought was good, i stopped at one.
-I found one
-Very good boy, go ahead.
-Title:
Is she invisible or is the world blind?
Full of tenderness smile
to the busy faces,
goodness not found
for the blinded,
the invisible sang the
flower song...
It was a soft voice among
the deaf wandering,
echoed in the shadows...
She climbed the highest tower
to be heard, no one was watching.
The world was blinded
and she sang in the mist
for the blind of life...
A boy in the dark listened
between the steps of death,
An old man was criying sitting
under a tree,
A poet threw his poems into
the bin.
Lost in life, they will not even find death...
The invisible shone among the dark,
people walked without eyes.
I finished reading, I waited for his opinion.
-It's good, it has some darkness and harsh reality, it reflects the world we live in, I like it,- he said.
Something calmed down inside me, I breathed softly.
-I appreciate you listening to my poem, Mr... Mr. Roger.
-Relax boy, it was good. In fact I'd like to hear another one, a different one.
-All right, give me a second, I'll look for one.
I set out to look for something else he might like, then one popped into view.
-I've got it.
-Go ahead, boy.
- Titled:
¿Who knows?
She's not here, will she come back? Who knows... That is the question.
There are only the memories of the past and the hopes that the heart keeps.
¡Heart!
This one turned out to be stubborn, it's not like the mind, who hastily gave in to disappointment,
I think it's clear who
he wears better
Therefore, it only remains to speak
to who can be...
to heaven,
to the stars,
to the wind,
to the trees and
in the dark.
None of these answer
they don't do anything.
or nothing...
Okay, I tell them, i understand,
tomorrow i will give in to reality
but for today listen my fantasy story,
you know...
The one where I am with her,
under the starry sky, the wind waving
the trees, in a
peaceful darkness.
I assure you, you will like it...
....
I close the book while and waiting for his answer, I feel some nervousness.
- I like it... It's kind of sad, but good.
-Thank you Mr. Roger, I wrote this one a couple of days ago.
I observe out of the corner of my eye and I notice that he retains some emotion in his face, sadness or something similar.
-It reminds me of her, my wife.
He looks like he's going to burst into tears at any second, but he hangs on.
-And where is she- I asked as i looked at him out of the corner of my eye.
-She is no longer here, at least not in person, she passed away 4 days ago, she... was the one," he said with his eyes on the lake.
-I'm sorry, Mr. Roger, if in any way I bothered you.
-No, don't worry boy... These things happen, things come and go just like people. One day they are here with you, the next they leave without warning.
-I can almost understand that," I answered, remembering Jane and her goodbye a week ago.
-Something wrong with you, boy? he asked.
-Something like that... I got fired from a job today, it was a shitty work environment, i don't think I did anything wrong. Also a special person for me left and i don't know if she will come back- I answered pretending a smile as if nothing had happened.
You know Mr. Roger, I feel defeat just a step away," I said smiling to hide it.
-You'll be fine, everything... Bad experiences happen. Look, I read this somewhere.
"EVERYTHING WILL ALRIGHT IN THE END AND IF IT'S NOT, IT MEANS IT'S NOT THE END YET"- he said looking me in the eyes.
-That's a good phrase you read, maybe I'll use it in a poem," I replied smiling.
Mr. Roger laughed a little too.
-I think it's time for me to go, an old man like me shouldn't be out so late... And you too, boy- he said.
Mr. Roger got up, he leaned on his backpack, fixed his coat and took a paper from his right pocket, he handed it to me.
-Read it when i'm gone, well Danny, I'm leaving... Oh and your poems are good- he said and turned to go on his way.
I watched as he walked through the trees in the distance, I was curious about the poem, and I opened it.
Title:
To Be the Last
Fucking cold,
busy bench,
perpishable old man,
sweaty hands
Exhausted thoughts,
There are two of us,
Tomorrow there may be one left...
Suggestive words,
You're not the only one,
And don't even think about it
If falling is what you want,
Remember, outside there are more
Defeated, they fall without order,
Without sequence, without warning...
At least look for an order,
Stand at the end of the line,
be short will give you time...
Do not fall,
Don't give up,
Don't try,
All will be omitted.
The inner voice speaks,
Let us be courteous,
Let us be the last.
I finished reading, I noticed some things that might seem contradictory, but somehow made sense together as a poem.
I looked to see if I could still see Mr. Roger, he was gone.
-Thank you Mr. Roger.
I put the poem in my notebook, lit a cigarette. The clock read 7:05 pm, I started my way home.
© Isay Vasquez
My head was somewhere or someone. I think I cared more about Jane at that moment than being fired. It was a little chilly, it was autumn and the wind was blowing, which I liked.
As I was smoking I was approached by this man, visually elderly, with a long coat and a cane in his right hand.
I noticed that he wanted to take a seat, so I threw away my cigarette and moved a little so that he would take a seat.
The old man sat down, put on his coat, stretched his legs, looked tired and a bit worn out. He had a sad, melancholic look, as if he had lost something.
-Good afternoon- i greeted.
- Hello, boy.
-Uhh, Are you feeling well? -I asked out of curiosity.
-Yes... kind of, you know- with a weak smile and a straight ahead look.
I didn't want to ask if something had happened to him, I felt that it would make him uncomfortable in some way, so I asked something simpler...
-What is your name, sir?
-I'm Roger, boy...
-I'm Dan, well... that's what my friends and family call me, but my name it's Danny.
I felt a little uncomfortable the silence in the environment.
-What's that," I asked pointing to the side of my right leg.
-Eh... those are cigarettes I bought.
-I don't mean that, the notebook below.
-Oh... you mean this, it's my notebook where i write poems in my spare time-I answered with the notebook in my hand.
-So you write poems, interesting. It's a good way to expose your voice in verses.
-Yes sir, but i'm not that good," I answered.
-Well... that would have to be checked, why don't you read some- he said as he rubbed his hands together in the cold.
I thought about it for a while, I didn't usually read my poems to people. There were the two of us, so I opted to do it, besides I wanted the opinion of an adult.
-Okay, give me a second, I'll look for one.
I started to look for one, I flipped through the pages looking for one that i thought was good, i stopped at one.
-I found one
-Very good boy, go ahead.
-Title:
Is she invisible or is the world blind?
Full of tenderness smile
to the busy faces,
goodness not found
for the blinded,
the invisible sang the
flower song...
It was a soft voice among
the deaf wandering,
echoed in the shadows...
She climbed the highest tower
to be heard, no one was watching.
The world was blinded
and she sang in the mist
for the blind of life...
A boy in the dark listened
between the steps of death,
An old man was criying sitting
under a tree,
A poet threw his poems into
the bin.
Lost in life, they will not even find death...
The invisible shone among the dark,
people walked without eyes.
I finished reading, I waited for his opinion.
-It's good, it has some darkness and harsh reality, it reflects the world we live in, I like it,- he said.
Something calmed down inside me, I breathed softly.
-I appreciate you listening to my poem, Mr... Mr. Roger.
-Relax boy, it was good. In fact I'd like to hear another one, a different one.
-All right, give me a second, I'll look for one.
I set out to look for something else he might like, then one popped into view.
-I've got it.
-Go ahead, boy.
- Titled:
¿Who knows?
She's not here, will she come back? Who knows... That is the question.
There are only the memories of the past and the hopes that the heart keeps.
¡Heart!
This one turned out to be stubborn, it's not like the mind, who hastily gave in to disappointment,
I think it's clear who
he wears better
Therefore, it only remains to speak
to who can be...
to heaven,
to the stars,
to the wind,
to the trees and
in the dark.
None of these answer
they don't do anything.
or nothing...
Okay, I tell them, i understand,
tomorrow i will give in to reality
but for today listen my fantasy story,
you know...
The one where I am with her,
under the starry sky, the wind waving
the trees, in a
peaceful darkness.
I assure you, you will like it...
....
I close the book while and waiting for his answer, I feel some nervousness.
- I like it... It's kind of sad, but good.
-Thank you Mr. Roger, I wrote this one a couple of days ago.
I observe out of the corner of my eye and I notice that he retains some emotion in his face, sadness or something similar.
-It reminds me of her, my wife.
He looks like he's going to burst into tears at any second, but he hangs on.
-And where is she- I asked as i looked at him out of the corner of my eye.
-She is no longer here, at least not in person, she passed away 4 days ago, she... was the one," he said with his eyes on the lake.
-I'm sorry, Mr. Roger, if in any way I bothered you.
-No, don't worry boy... These things happen, things come and go just like people. One day they are here with you, the next they leave without warning.
-I can almost understand that," I answered, remembering Jane and her goodbye a week ago.
-Something wrong with you, boy? he asked.
-Something like that... I got fired from a job today, it was a shitty work environment, i don't think I did anything wrong. Also a special person for me left and i don't know if she will come back- I answered pretending a smile as if nothing had happened.
You know Mr. Roger, I feel defeat just a step away," I said smiling to hide it.
-You'll be fine, everything... Bad experiences happen. Look, I read this somewhere.
"EVERYTHING WILL ALRIGHT IN THE END AND IF IT'S NOT, IT MEANS IT'S NOT THE END YET"- he said looking me in the eyes.
-That's a good phrase you read, maybe I'll use it in a poem," I replied smiling.
Mr. Roger laughed a little too.
-I think it's time for me to go, an old man like me shouldn't be out so late... And you too, boy- he said.
Mr. Roger got up, he leaned on his backpack, fixed his coat and took a paper from his right pocket, he handed it to me.
-Read it when i'm gone, well Danny, I'm leaving... Oh and your poems are good- he said and turned to go on his way.
I watched as he walked through the trees in the distance, I was curious about the poem, and I opened it.
Title:
To Be the Last
Fucking cold,
busy bench,
perpishable old man,
sweaty hands
Exhausted thoughts,
There are two of us,
Tomorrow there may be one left...
Suggestive words,
You're not the only one,
And don't even think about it
If falling is what you want,
Remember, outside there are more
Defeated, they fall without order,
Without sequence, without warning...
At least look for an order,
Stand at the end of the line,
be short will give you time...
Do not fall,
Don't give up,
Don't try,
All will be omitted.
The inner voice speaks,
Let us be courteous,
Let us be the last.
I finished reading, I noticed some things that might seem contradictory, but somehow made sense together as a poem.
I looked to see if I could still see Mr. Roger, he was gone.
-Thank you Mr. Roger.
I put the poem in my notebook, lit a cigarette. The clock read 7:05 pm, I started my way home.
© Isay Vasquez
