The Richest man in Babylon

I have reached Babylon. No trees. No grass. The buildings looked down on me and it seemed like there was some sort of ancient delight weaved into them. Like a peaceful sort of magic. The city itself seemed to smile as if he himself had witnessed uncountable smiles and embraces. And in a way he trully had. Theres warmth embroided in the rock, the glass, the asphalt. The streets soar with noise.
Spaniards on sidewalks talking hastly like birds on branches. Hissing the words, they sip the air and grin. Some of them dancing to the sound of a distant guitar. Wonderful people baked in the Sierras. Bathed in the Mediteranean.
A french couple is kissing beneath a terasse, their lips bound together like a scar of content. They share wine and ignore the rest of the world. Their arms building a house for them. One painted in silent afection.
Americans pace the streets and alleyways beyond stop signs and red lights. Oblivious of any laws of traffic, running and laughing like savage children. They make such characters. I love to hear them. "Definitely. Sure thing. Damn right." These little gods of the planet, their confidence blooming beneath the sun, are marvelous to watch.
And then there s the easties.
Beautiful Ukrainian girls giggling in a heartbreaking beautiful but strange and savage manner. As they pass by they know that their mere presence decorates the city.
Romanians curse along. Aloud. Double chinned and fat bellied. With pursed mouths, stained by wine or sangria. One moment they"re angry, the next the hug each other. An army of Santas on vacation.
The Turks walk gently the streets like dispossessed sultans contemplating them like a long lost empire. They sometimes look around and sigh. Some have black circles around their eyes and fuzzy moustaches. Standing ferm like statues of a Zorro fallen from grace.
German blonde and irish ginger. African ebony and Asian lemon. Skins of all shapes, sizes and colours. From Japan to Portugal. From Norway to South Africa.
The whole globe poured its people in these cities like a divine congregation of all the Nations of the world.
I walk these narrow streets, drunk on variety. My eyes shifting from a place to another. From man to woman and back. Like a schizophrenic. Can t help but inhale wildly. the everchanging beauty. hats, bags, bracelests, tattoos. Beautiful people, hideous people. All passing marvels like splintered memories of a life not yet lived.
I sit in cafes, restaurants, on roof tops or river banks. Chewing raw meat and sipping wine or eating cakes and cappuccino. Doing nothing extraordinary yet rewarding with narcotic satisfaction. All these things help me remember that nobody lives as intense as they claim. Carpe Diem is a vague and blank concept as the pages it is written or posted on. However, the rare evenings when you can go to sleep smiling completely charmed by the events of the day, make life bearable. They make it worth enduring days, months, years of being chocked by the dust of everyday life. Spoil yourself every now and then and DO WHATEVER YOU LIKE.