One Thousand Faces, Amravín

(New York, 2001)

One thousand faces are smiling at me
we all go by subway, we all pay a fee
It looks like we come from all countries abroad
but, when our eyes meet, we are like one on the road.

Now I talk to this woman; she is Chinese.
I see my own image in her eyes, as she sees
That I am interested in the things that she reads;
She translates her newspaper and besides us, empty seats.

It’s not yet the rush hour, no wonder I sit.
The way to Manhattan in summer is this:
One bus and two transfers by subway, this means
I’ll meet more faces, hear voices, see streets...

An African man comes, he is dressed in folklore
No one cares, I feel that his language is color;
He goes out in two stations, he speaks kindly to all
And my eyes are still open to this mixture of soul.

The Jewish pal beside me, he is dressed all in black;
His eyes are so sweet, that I wonder what
impedes him from seeing my interest at
His culture, his clothes and his big black hat.

I pretend I am silly, I just try to meet
His eyes in the silence, but he won’t see me.
It’s perhaps my makeup? I wore this old skirt,
I think it’s my hair. How does a Jew flirt?

I would like to ask him my questions about
The land of his father, his Israel abroad;
But, he just won’t see me. His eyes look beyond
Whatever I am doing; and he’ll never know...

And going by subway, I discover all,
the cultures, the languages, the people who work,
Their flyers, their papers, their palm files, their art,
Their children, their treasures, their countries afar.

One thousand smiles that I may forget
And though I’ll remember how many I met.
The different languages and prayers and songs
Are making a difference deep inside my soul.

I feel like the daughter of this melting pot.
In the heart of Flushing I have found a home.
It’s crowded, it’s filled, like stuffed to the top,
More room being made for some millions more.

I’m Chinese today, tomorrow I don’t know.
This melting pot means growing, and I want much more.
I want to keep hugging this wonderful world.
New York is this I precious, this is a fun shore.

And these thousand faces, with then thousand more,
Is it now a million? I don’t even know.
This city is that simple: Survival without
Arguments or covers, just mankind around.

One thousand hearts that I will miss all,
If I have to leave them, and go back to the cold
Of cities where people look all gray and old,
Where all dress one color, where all think one thought.

One thousand answers and one thousand roads,
For my thousand questions; and one happy whole.
I don’t want to leave them, I want them with me,
Diverse and just human, and this feels so free...

New York is my mother, and I’ll always be
Back to this sweet culture that has embraced me,
With all of the people that I’ve never seen
Sitting close together, for the same subway fee.

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