On one side of the narrow alleyway
there was an open door
letting off hints of cumin and fresh caraway.
A boy with dreamy eyes walked in slowly.
Oriental music from a transistor radio
laced the warm air with tender melancholy.
Inside, the sweet aroma of summer fruits filled the courtyard
where a woman holding a tray whispered some words
but hearing them was rather hard
The sun was high in the deep blue sky,
visible from the roofless courtyard of the old house.
The kid looked to his left at the room where he was born
with its faded blue door and its striped curtains half torn
Inside were a wooden bench and scattered pillows,
and uneven steps that led up to a loft
where an elderly man was sleeping
under white linen, silky and soft.
Outside, the music was still playing,
and to its slow beat the old woman was swaying.
The kid looked up at the room’s whitewashed ceiling,
supported by wooden beams
and that’s when he came undone at the seams.
So hurriedly he walked out and away
passing the old woman with the tray
who followed him and begged him to stay.
Not looking back, he increased his pace
and with his sleeve wiped warm tears
running down his bourbon vanilla face.