The layers of hills overlooking shadows of a past conquering spirit separated by the seas, connected by the seas. Same seas, different times. Timeless seas shaping hills, or the other way around?
The vastness of sea horizons lying in front of Lisboa, decorated with so many shades of blues that observers get lost in them, dreaming away or just trying to forget, a past or evading present.
My Lisboa or Lisboa that belonged to someone else? Maybe I belonged to Lisboa once before, walking on its hills without loosing balance. Layers upon layers of history, of big and small structures, layers of cultures and riches, layers of pain and greed, layers of pleasures and love, tightly fitted on Lisboa's hills, of a once thriving capital of an empire, now sitting with a solemn smile, reminiscing celebrated past, many victories, and mourning over dark shadows of human trade. I know there were many buckets of bitter tears soaking each inch of its land with boats arriving and leaving...transporting so many of us and them. All of us came and went in search of some better time and better life.I stand on one hill of my Lisboa and admire everything in front of me because there is nothing left than to capture life as it flows in all directions.
I know sweat was poured and lives were lost to build its grand structures with ornate facades, art displayed on the buildings, tiles of beauty, colorful invitations to hidden sanctuaries overlooking the vast seas. Depth of Lisbon’s past reaches deeper than its surrounding waters painting many destinies on its brittle canvas, but an intricately woven and decorated canvas I keep longing for long after I have left her hills.