I am a city which once mesmerised the eyes of an
explorer, and so I was named as "Little Venice". Seasonal variations
are marked less by temperature than by rainfall. I have felt the emotions of my
people and felt tired too sometimes from the long journey of my land’s swaying
dancing brook. But the irony is that, that I can't define myself, but my people
define me.
I saw a beautiful lady, nine months pregnant, whose baby is going to arrive soon, comforting her child,
rubbing her belly, and saying, "I am going to bring you soon in this
world". I am excited to see this. Soon those little feet will walk across
the city and the very thought of this lit up my face. I saw a boy playing
football on the ground and seeing his skills made me wonder if he is a fan of
Messi. I wanted to shout out loud and appreciate him but only a writer can hear
me and pen me down on a white paper. I saw a pretty girl walking through my
streets. I think she is in her early teens…
Oh, it's new dawn
covered with the harsh realities of darkness. I was just imagining things. I
can see that lady, but neither can I see a smile on her face nor the twinkling
eyes. Tears are rolling down over her cheeks because she has to leave her
child. She can't feed her and as an impotent, I can't help her. Look at that
Messi's fan: instead of running on my playground to achieve his dreams he has
left me behind. Now he is walking in the fields of his crushed dreams. I am
choked now, that teenager girl now doesn't like to apply makeup on her face.
She got scratches on her body for a penny. Her green fields of dreams have
become barren now. Those screams of her behind the doors has torn my heart
apart.
I am only a
voiceless spectator. Because of some vultures, my children are in pain, dreams
are barely alive, creepy weeds have over taken them. Neither "Alice "
can imagine herself in "Wonderland" nor gennie can help any “Aladdin
". I and my people are helpless, and they don't have any choice rather
than to leave me.
I cannot provide
for people craving for food and fresh air. I cannot heal them, but I can feel
them. I count on them because I owe my existence to them. My love for them will
never fade away. I will still be waiting for them to return and those twinkling
dreams to knock my door and maybe that day the writer will change the title from
" City without Dreams" to "City with Dreams".
Author’s note:
As a student of literature, I have read a few works on the contemporary situation of Venezuela. Most of the works are written on the topic of why Venezuela is facing a current eco-political crisis. There are only a few works which deal with the people of Venezuela. My work has a literary connection to "It would be night in Caracas" by Karina Sainz Borgo.
