He was a fine gentleman.
“He didn’t come to beg for food or money.”Today I fed a stray grey cat.
His eyes were filled with sorrow
but also shined of wisdom,
throughout his life
that’s full of freedom,
on the streets of this unforgiving city.
He wore his coat as nomads do,
expressive and symbolic,
noble with the touch of street.
He’s no pussy but a cat,
knows the lone howl of the night,
looked into reapers eyes
and escaped his claws,
like eastern silk
from the hand of a chunky merchant.
He didn’t come to beg for food or money,
he came to tell the story of his travels,
of his battle with the snake
and his duel for the hand of pretty mistress.
My attention focused
automatically translating language,
transferred through his wide and tired eyes.
He complained of the constant rains,
now I feel we have a lot in common,
shame can’t take him out to a bar.
I place the food gently in front of him,
I know he wants it
but moves unwillingly and slowly
towards this human treat.
He smells the food for one last time,
right before he takes his bite,
looks at me
but I lose the link translating,
not sure what he was saying,
was it gratitude or curse?