BOOMERANG Poem by Henry Luque

Oh destiny . . .
Jorge Luis Borges
I who have gone on the long Trans-Siberian trek,
I who have known the winds of Kabul,
the thick snow of Petersburg,
who have drunk the mare's milk that bewitched Genghis Khan.
I who knocked on doors in Milos and Ischia,
I who have seen bats protecting
the library in Coimbra
and have climbed the Tikal pyramids right up to the clouds.
I who crawled along the Sahara after sunset,
who talked with the oracle in Delphi
and dreamt of vipers in the slender Sarajevo,
while on Tome Masaryka Street
my shadow denuded itself.
I who in Delhi saw the dead shake off the dust,
I who saw in the eyes the divinities of Nara
and breathed ashes in the Ganges.
I who opposed the Chinese divinities
in subversive scrolls which since time inmemorial
have circulated in the Forbidden City,
I who caressed a virgin from the twelfth century
while biting on withered autumn leaves.
I who cradled my shyness in the throne of a king,
who made a mysterious flight to the paradise
of some embraces,
what I truly remember is the neighbourhood I was born in.