When they said an Ode to a place, I remembered my land, where I was born, and that now I only see through Google Maps, I don't know if this is a poem, a memory or what, but I hope you like it.
Ode to Buenavista
My Buenavista, corner of my roots,
warm land where I opened my eyes
to the world full of sun and roosters at dawn,
to my mother's voice between sheets hanging out to dry,
to my father's machete shining among the reeds.
There, where the sky has no roof
and the trees know my name,
my soul grew between wooden planks
and the lowing of the ox marked the hours
better than any city clock.
How the silence of this tidy apartment hurts now,
where the concrete doesn't creak underfoot
nor does the rooster crow his morning gospel.
Here I have everything, some say,
but I don't have my house, nor my river.
Not even that bench at the entrance
where stories were told in the cool air,
nor the damp earth
that embraced my bare feet
as if it didn't want to let me go.
My Buenavista!
How strange it is to miss
the walls without luxury
and the dusty roads,
when the luxury I have
doesn't taste like home.
From Brazil I name you,
and in every word I pass through the wind
I revive you.
For that feeling of wanting to return,
and now I long for a piece of land.
Because one can change the sky,
but never the roots.
According to Word: 216 words
wow -- powerful. i've too gazed at beloved places from satellite imagery, and it gave me an otherworldly feeling.
have you ever returned since childhood?
do you think you'll ever find another occasion to go?
Yes, I left there when I was 12, and around 28, I took my wife there to experience it while I was in Cuba. Perhaps at some point when I go back to Cuba, I'll take my children to the place where I was born.
When I took my wife, it had already changed a lot. I imagine that when I take my children, it will be very different.
I loved this. That's all
Thanks, I really just let myself go and write what was inside me.