Melancholia

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.