Today is the Day of Mourning for the Native Americans.
I wanted to be alone. The roads were empty. I went to Ricky's cafe and sat under a photograph of Eiffel tower (rather symbolic of my new love for France and Francophone countries)
A Cubanita stood behind the coffee machine at Ricky's Cafe.
She had long wavy hair. I had never seen her before at Ricky's Cafe.
Cortadito por favor, estilo de la Havana, bien caliente, Gracias
A cortadito please, the way they make it in Havana, very hot, thank you
She looks at me with a faint smile
I go and sit down below the photo of Tour Eiffel..
I always carry a book of Poems, lately has been Pablo Neruda's Winter Garden. Jardin de Invierno..
so powerful were the words that i felt such a joy swelling inside me, and I felt so much love in my heart.
from one poem: Animal of Light
it is small, it is wide, scarce and is everything.
My eyes from looking into so many eyes
and my mouth from so many kisses.
from having swallowed the smoke
of those trains that vanished
the old merciless stations
and the dust of countless bookshops,
the man I am, the mortal, weary
of eyes, of kisses, of smoke, of roads,
tired of books thicker than the earth.
And today, deep in that lost forest
he hears the rustling of the enemy and flees
not from the others but from himself ,
from the interminable conversation,
from the choir that used to sing with us
and from the meaning of life
All those poor souls in all parts of the world, if you are unhappy today, think of all the good things in your life , past and present and a hope for a future and then look inside yourself: the source of unhappiness lay there
