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| Botero, Woman at a window, 1999 |
She watches from her window, looking out
over a sea of rooftops and narrow laneways where
over a sea of rooftops and narrow laneways where
two cats chase each other, hissing and spitting
and a dog knocks over a rubbish bin.
A city she no longer recognises,
where she is nothing more than a stranger.
Too many years have passed since she
wandered those streets, high heels catching
between cobbled stones, her glossy hair flowing
freely, while the sun caressed her shoulders.
A carefree life filled with happiness and laughter,
like an overflowing fruit bowl.
She recalls that evening as a recent memory,
one etched into her heart, deep and tender,
a seeping wound that refuses to heal.
In truth, time has abandoned her, a soul lost
to bitter thoughts and desperate wishes.
But her love is strong, has never waned.
When the stairs creak she is ever hopeful, yet
always disappointed. It is never her door that opens.
She keeps watch, convinced of his return,
that he will keep his word. I will always love you.
But his footsteps are no more.
So she carelessly throws lemons from above.
Too many years have passed since she
wandered those streets, high heels catching
between cobbled stones, her glossy hair flowing
freely, while the sun caressed her shoulders.
A carefree life filled with happiness and laughter,
like an overflowing fruit bowl.
She recalls that evening as a recent memory,
one etched into her heart, deep and tender,
a seeping wound that refuses to heal.
In truth, time has abandoned her, a soul lost
to bitter thoughts and desperate wishes.
But her love is strong, has never waned.
When the stairs creak she is ever hopeful, yet
always disappointed. It is never her door that opens.
She keeps watch, convinced of his return,
that he will keep his word. I will always love you.
But his footsteps are no more.
So she carelessly throws lemons from above.
© the dishonest woman
