Reunions

A distant geography

that bleeds

Arturo Alape

Infinite reunions in the center of Katmandu

Cradle of lonely exile.
Light that blinds the blind.
Cold of penetrating breath
with insane perfume
Attraction to your senselessness.

I'm looking for inside you
places that no longer exist,
Following footprints I once left,
of blurred and sad memories.
Of a space devastated by time.
Past and memories of covered effect.

I keep longing for you
Crying out for the voices you left me,
and they are already gone.
You devoured my dreams.

We still speak the same language
and you do not abandon me with my loneliness.
My first love.
I drowned inside you.

Although you only seem
concrete and mazes,
We can keep walking hand in hand.
Now that I find the essence of your depth.
We are not that different.
It's not you, it's my eyes.
I am another too
alterego of your demons.
Complement of your rebirth.

Thank you for teaching me to walk again,
from your sad steep slums
to the opulence of your European northern.
For seducing me from the cloudy sky,
that announces the cold of your Dorado duel.

Although you exist in prolonged distance,
although you censor my walls with paint,
and banish me with violent anger.
Although you break your endless promises,
and expel your children into exile from boredom.

You are mine as I am yours.

We were together around the world
in the suffocating foreign passion,
and in the immense sea of monotonous apathy,
between sweet water of thirst I died.

To you I had to return
because everything was in you
You were no longer what overwhelmed me.
The forgotten island in the stagnant evolution.

You have a little bit of everyone.
The irreparable chaos of Kathmandu,
and the dirty and genuine aesthetics of Berlin.
The frenetic Mondays of Stockholm,
and the anonymous voices from the walls of Athens.
The variegated aroma of the slopes of Naples,
fused with the exhilarating adrenaline of San Salvador.
The bohemian corners of Buenos Aires,
and the forgotten desolation of Potosí.
In every place, a taste of you.

It was always you and me in the city.
Days and nights between footsteps and alcohol,
cold mornings of white smoke.
In the psychedelic circus of modernity,
lust and dissolution in your darkness.

Thirty-six hour days
wandering between thoughts and revolutions.
The acid going up the spine.
Climax of words never mixed,
and of almost convulsed ideas.

For your delicate and artistic balance.
For the furtive and clandestine "my love".
Because you have known how to be reborn every day.
Because I carry you even in my corroded skin.

Because I am all that,
that I find in you when I return.
Because what I wrote, I did it yesterday,
and because 5 years without your fire are heavy.
I will always come back to you Bogotá.

Gosaikunda Lake, Himalayas, Nepal. September 2022