FROM ME, WITH LORCA, TO YOU It is raining here, rain drops, fine tears upon the earth, upon my heart i spit these arabesques: una lucha a muerte! Yesterday we travelled, a friend and i and the bus kept coughing through the water-bloated road, beneath the angry sun. And yesterday we travelled, cups of mud here and there and we ate noise and music who is here to save us? But today we travelled to Nsugbe we over-ate our discussion and got bored before the sun turned orange behind the fat gmelinas on its way home. We met our friends. They graduated, and yes, they graduated and we threw mud-laughter at them and came to this restaurant. It is night we are bored and these arabesques makes no meaning untill the girls came and see me, friends, see me! Talking to the fair one, watching the streamlined nose, the small mouth looking like an apple in the lavender lights! See me watch, oh friends, see me! watch the rotund thighs and feel my sudden stirring here not with the fair one for my mind has travelled. Lavender lights sensual smiles hearts afire and my palmwine-tasting Sminorff see me! I am tired, i am bored no end to the sinister darkness of this night. Oneday a friend told me he is in love and that day, friends, that day, i saw lay upon the thatch roof the huge iguanas of Atani and the eldermen-fishermen drinking hot-wine under the hut. You immediately think there is no connection here, disparate things, visions. See me! Brave clouds refusing to rain, to weep again the tears of men in love who bored themselves with drinks hot as an angry sun for the iguanas to warm under. The wind caresses the the trees they moan, the anguish of earth excreted at the big-mouthed cistern the wind caresses the trees of june, when we three were born. The wind caresses my thoughts of you at this table, with my misty bottle, your image, with my misty bottle, the wind caresses these longings, these arabesques. And to my heart it says: una lucha a muerte! I, alone here, drinking your thoughts from this misty bottle, the neglected girl beside me, and i alone, lonely here, lavender lights on my face dead roses, tiny blossoms, the breath of forlorn fragipanis near me and i mutter against the ears of your image: una lucha a muerte . . . - last night, September 4, Nsugbe.
Posted on: Thu, 05 Sep 2013 09:57:16 +0000
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