9th July, 2020
I am a stranger in a Brazilian land.
My toes spread wide on pavements scorched like copper pipe.
My feet sizzle on the outstretched land as it transforms into an artists sketchbook.
A palatte of primary colours, splodged across the skyline with baskets of fruit floating past in the haze.
I am a stranger in a Brazillian land.
My eyes open like shutters on the tilt.
If I stretch my hand I can touch the trinket beads, brigadeiros and exotic vegetables.
Observing through my lense an alien land.
So I close my shutters to remain in my head
The sweet apple pie and my cosy bed
I long for the days to return to my home
When I smell mamma’s cooking and all things known.
But now I am here in the strangest of lands
Flung far away so that I must allow my toes to press against the burnt concrete.
I allow my mind to return to my body as I pass the street sellers and marketeers.
A heady mix of boom boxes, vibrant street art and handmade novelties.
I am alone. My footsteps become louder as I approach the unlit subway. Darkness falls from the sky without much warning and I find myself quickening pace.
I watch the shadows disappear as I keep my eyes forward. I never look back.
I remain fixed until I am safely out of the tunnel and can breathe again.
I look up at the sky to see a pearly moon as round as a biscuit.
And I smile because I know they will have seen
My family and friends with all those miles in between
Will be linked by the star that graces the sky
With a distance unseen by the moon that can fly
I reach out my hand so that my fingers can hold the bright ball in my hand
For I am a stranger in a Brazilian land