Posts Tagged one hundred years of solitude

Things have a life of their own

 

 

( To Garcia Marquez, for the truth in every race’s 100 years of solitude. ” But we rise by waking up our souls”)


Imagination is as icky for some as much as it is lovely,
Civilizations somewhere influencing the other
Passing on batons of an athletic wisdom relay,
Where man races against time, money, customs and culture
as they run through renewed tracks of  poetry and literature,
Magic from stone to paper gradually;
(And that includes noble recognitions and currency)

Thursday’s over
And it’s been raining for the past three months of this year
It’s crazier than the fight of mere cats and dogs, for these monsoons
see long giraffes trampling over my grassy lawn,
And hippopotamuses wallow in the muddy drainage lagoons
Their eyes pop out at times like balloon–sized bubbles of foam;
These elected kings have been ignoring us, sleeping in a prayer’s womb
We live without relief, without fresh milk or without much food;
But as soon as November comes, we hope to be good
For the fields where folks have labored acres of green canopy
to save crops for rainy days like these times of Old Testament calamity,
should make it to harvest for the big feast of Christmas culture ;
When the ancient man with wise words, shall orate through the winter.

My grandfather’s long dead
But he often speaks back through the rain-spirits in our homestead
His friend, standing on the mud, looks up so intense he’d needle a rain-thread
“My fisherman of nine fingers, Does your mouth water for the fishes of your pond?”
I suddenly realize why this air of memories smells so fishy, on and on
But in a world full of magic, lies and truthful metaphors,
Things have a life of their own; it’s a matter of simply releasing our own fears.

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