Summer is Over -The Migrant Chant






It’s like I’m waking from a dream that lasted a hundred years, and the world is a world anew, similar but not exact to the one I knew -understood- from my time behind, when I was whoever I was that long, long ago.

It’s like being an amnesic thrown back to her hometown. Everybody knows my name, but me. I forget: was I happy? Was I weird? Was I the colourful butterfly or the grey wallpaper flower fading in the dance? Was I a dork, a jerk, a sinner, a saint?

It’s like looking at the almanac and realize that summer is over -everything lived but a parenthesis from real life- nothing long lasting, nothing deeply planted, all just volutes from a bonfire by the beach, someone playing a guitar as the sun sets. We didn’t know it then, but all that beauty could not last. And all that I was, all that we were, flies away in the wings of swans and ducks, to warmer lands, the distant lands of our broken hearts.

And autumn knocks at my door and I no longer know who I am. Don’t know myself, my name, my real name, the one called by grandma when it was time to go to bed. And the world turns cool, the one I knew dissolving in front of my eyes, the one rising similar, but not the same – never, ever the one I long for. More of a tamed garden version of the feral jungles of my core. And this is  a holiday I cannot end: run from, flight from. Walk away. There is no place, no street, no home to return to.

No spaces, no spots, no people. No tree to attach memories to. No house, no corner, no old dinner, no little pink café. Everything is gone -all we have left is the cold, the new land, the shadow of that who I was, who we were, that which we believed. In the blink of an eye. In a whimper, in a sigh, in a second. Good-bye.

Summer is over and estrangers call me by a name, showing me places I am to feel as mine, trailing routines someone created for me to follow, like a lab rat in a maze. Summer is over. The world I knew is tangled with the wispy reminiscences of a dream I can’t shake from my eyes, that who I was, that which I believed, was it a lie? A fantasy? The reckless child of an idle mind?

Summer is over and autumn kisses my cheek like a loving husband I’m supposed to know and love. And I shiver in its cool embrace. There was a name once, the name I understood to be mine. There was a face, a voice, a laughter, lost in the blink of an eye. Lost in the night, in the dream, in the awakening of pink dawns ripping away myself from me.

I am lost, oh so lost, in this autumn and its flying leaves; in the intricate lace created by the bare trees. In the moist soil. In the cool breeze. I am lost to myself, wondering, again, what is my name to be in this world rising in front of me, imitation of my world, but never ever, the same.

Summer is over and whatever this, is, it seems I am here to stay. New eyes, new face, new voice, new name. In the blink of an eye, summer greens turning to burning reds.


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