My city,
A magical place, my new home.
I came here long, long ago,
Without counting days,
But the various years.

There, on that street, stood a small shop,
Called The Last Emperor,
A kingdom of tea leaves
And aromatic coffee beans.

A modest man, the owner,
With a humble, quiet heart.
That’s how I saw him:
A bright face, tired gaze
Marked by years,
Like a lantern of wisdom
In the middle of a rough ocean

Then came the online revolution,
And the emperor laid down
His noble title.
The virtual world
Does not care for poetry.
It prefers short notes,
Recycled images,
Fast-trending tags
Without hours suspended
In pain and deep happiness.

The place is the same,
Only the name has changed.
The same owner still politely asks:
“Would you like it more bitter,
Or perhaps with a note of caramel?”

And I no longer know myself
Whether he means
The taste of coffee,
Maybe he is asking about my life.

Thoughts,
like lost words from the past,
in a Confucian style…

A homeless, middle-aged man
Often visited his friend:
The Last Emperor.
He drank hot tea there,
His radiating aura
As if from another world,
Like a Parisian vagabond.

A brief exchange of courtesy
With the dethronized Emperor,
And then he left walking tall,
Like a lord, into the street
Of a fantastic, strange world.
No one could deny him.
His dignity!

Once, as I was gazing at him,
He turned to me, saying
“Why are you staring at me, Madam?
I’m truly fine here!”

He didn’t know
That I was captivated
By his certainty,
Seeing in him a free man,
Living without fear,
As if each moment
Were eternally closed
In a small bean
Of coffee scent.