Suddenly I was back, sitting in the little wooden desk
Looking out the window, in between the multicoloured glass
Surrounded by the severe look of old medicine books
In my eyes, the expectation; in the air, that peculiar smell
I start rolling the little handles that lift the sheets of glass
It opens the outside, invites it in with a blow, a whisper of the wind
And I can sense it, the dust on the thick, dark-green leaves of the orange tree flies,
Just like magic sparkle does in dreams, but fades away, disappears
I look up, in between the shady spots of trees, and the sky looks grey
The wind brings far from the distance that smell, the one of hope, it’s wet, it’s sweet
Just as an orchestra prepares its gear, tiny unforgotten sounds fill the air
My eyes widen, my mind opens, it’s the moment, I make it mine.
I drop my little yellow pencil down, as the chopped pieces pierce my notebook’s pages
The numbers, geography and principles of grammar are no longer in my mind.
I need to be part of it; I escape my jail, I stand in that patch of man-made land.
And the wind brings news of change, a long-due promise, the one of life.
The signals are imminent; the wind is now strong and makes ghostly sounds
The clouds race fiercely in the sky, as I look up, eager for more, thirsty…
My mother runs from room to room, closing windows, turning mirrors around
The old routine of anticipated moments starts, like a bizarre dance
As the time click-clocks, in a slow, steady pace, I know it’s here
The moment that I wished to taste, the one that it’s as rare as six months are for a child
Then my mother shouts from a window, demanding me back inside… a drop falls,
It hits my cheek, and it feels cold, and just like that, it sets itself immortal in my mind.
