By Renzo Vergara
At 45
The days get shorter
And nights get longest.
It is the age
At which when you manage to sleep
And you get into your dreams
You don’t want to wake up
Because everyday that passes
It is not another day
But one less.
And it is when
On sleepless nights
You hide in a corner of your room
With a knife between the teeth
Waiting for the dawn
Because the words
you pronounce during the day
Sound like the murmurs of a homeless man
Asking a young couple for a couple of bucks
In a subway car.
At 45
Your gilded age is behind
And you only want to escape
Towards the night
To wait for the dawn.
Renzo Vergara is a journalist, photographer, and writer from Peru, now living in Brooklyn, NY. He is currently working in his first collection of poems entitled “Dust”.
