Monday, January 19, 2009

The lonely Queen in the streets of Paris

…the lonely Queen

walks in the streets of Paris

holes in her pockets, no coins

               for buying a cup

                            of coffee, with whipped cream on top.

The lonely Queen has no accountant to call and ask for more money

the accountant would not have anyone to go to collect past due taxes.

The Queen has no land in her possession or farmers to work on it,

no cows, horses, roosters for chickens, chickens for white and brown 

eggs and future chubby hens.

               The lonely Queen enjoys

                            the Parisian art from afar.

She left her used carriage in the church parking lot,

Generous hand-out from the priest, for he got a new one.

The lonely Queen left everything behind for her ex-King to take care of.

Humbly he moves the carriage to the left or the right

as the days go by, and takes care of the stray cats and the

dogs she collected for so long and left behind-

                The lonely Queen has other

                             matters in her mind.

She walks on the old stone-covered roads, takes her maps out,

finds out where the museums are, and in her gentleness

puts them back in her royal purse and continues to

cover the stone-covered roads and enjoy the art from afar.

Her ex-King is a good man, he moves her carriage

from left to right, and puts food for the stray cats and dogs

and tries to find a home for every single one, and for

the other ones she forgot she got…When he has time

he tries to find a place for his ex-lonely Queen who is

finally looking for a job in the streets of Paris,

looking for a way to survive for a couple of days to come.

The lonely Queen has no merchandise, no land or farmers

to work on the lands, to sow, to rip the crops, to

get the fruits from the fruit orchards,

make wine from her vineyards,

to poor her wine in crystal glasses,

serve her pumpkin soup in cobalt blue Italian bowls,

clear water in red cups, best of silks for table tops

imported from the northeast of Afghanistan, fabrics

from Tajikistan.

She has no accountant to call up

and find out how much is left in her account,

after paying up the servants, four-star chefs,

gardeners, the men in charge of the vineyards,

the ones who gently gather the white and

brown eggs, running after the chubby hens,

the ladies who get milk from Australian fat cows,

boxes full of Guatemalan bananas,

new shipments of over-sized Persian rugs.

The lonely Queen in the streets of Paris

is looking in her English/French dictionary

to find words to ask, “how to make a collect call” to

her ex-King, she needs help to come back

to her home that she has lost for quite some time.

Meanwhile, she still is looking for French words,

sometimes watching her steps so she would not trip

over the stones covering the Parisian side roads.

She gently puts some time aside to spend on

looking at the Parisian glory and arts from afar…

and fill up her books with notes

about what she sees and how she feels.

I can get a glimpse of how she feels.

For, once upon a time, I was a

                  displaced lonely King

                           in the streets of Paris.

© ario June 08

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