An Ode To Those Cities

A dear friend asked me the other day

"Which is the city you call your own?"

I wanted to give a precise answer

But couldn't find out which one.

Is it the city where I was born

That still echoes my murmurs

In the whispers of rosy mornings

And spreads my fragrance with the wind.

Or is it the city where I went to school

That still preserves my frayed memories

Of broken pencils and faded pages

And the benches where I played along.

Is it the city where I had lost myself

That still glorifies my mistakes explored

In all those struggles that it has kept

Hidden between dried petals of my diaries.

Or is it the city where I found glory

That still reminds me of beautiful days

Shared smiles with my parents

And moved forward to find my road.

Perhaps it is the city where I hadn't lived

It still carries my experiences with strangers

Of a weekend spent to find myself

In the history of a city that wasn't mine.

I don't know which one it is

For I belong to every city I have visited

Left a part of me there to blend in the air

Picked another part and dissolved it in me.

With the molecules and moments

That create themselves for me

I look back to every frame that was me

And let it unfurl a history of mine.

I am not sure if there exists a city

That we humans can call our own

Or why else would we feel we belong there

When we procreate our lives in those cities.