On the night of our arrival in some cities
if we happen to look through the hotel window
we may find two street children
fighting for an old leather wallet.
In such moments
before we even notice
an old man’s mind usurps ours.
At such times,
though only for a fleeting second,
we feel that we have aged so much
and have grown far beyond our own deaths,
perhaps even beyond death itself,
and have truly known all
that can be known about life.
The street three storeys below
with its closing shops
and rarefied air
aren’t confusing anymore
and with the silent maturity of an old truck
we watch the changing traffic signal
far ahead in the main road.
And despite our lofty apathy these traffic lamps
keep on signalling to the deserted night street.
At the oldest atom of that moment
we look upon our own lives
as a great grandfather
watch a febrile weakling
shiver beneath a blanket.
And then, when we are too much aware of our age,
when the old man’s mind cannot hold on any more,
when our nostrils begin to catch the scent
of the dried skin of our mind,
our whole being descend to the age in
which our prosaic body still lives.
Back again, we start to feel the lust of our loins
and we continue to quarrel like street children
under meaningless traffic lamps.
