I wanted to write you a letter
my love
a letter to tell
of this longing
to see you
and this fear
of losing you
of this thing which deeper than I want, I feel
a nameless pain which pursues me
a sorrow wrapped about my life.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
a letter of intimate secrets
a letter of memories of you
of you
your lips as red as the tacula fruit
your hair black as the dark diloa fish
your eyes gentle as the macongue
your breast hard as young maboque fruit
your light walk
your caresses
better than any that I find here.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
to bring back our days together in our secret haunts
nights lost in the long grass
to bring back the shadow of your legs
and the moonlight filtering through the endless palms,
to bring back the madness of our passion
and the bitterness of separation.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
which you could not read without crying
which you could hide from papa Bombo
and conceal from mama Kieza
which you would reread without the coldness of forgetting
a letter which would make any other
in all Kilombo worthless.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
a letter which the passing wind would take
A letter which the cashew and the coffee trees,
the hyenas and the buffalo
the alligators and the river fish
could hear
and if the wind should lose it on the way
the beast and plants
pitying our sharp sorrow
from song to song
lament to lament
breath to caught breath
would leave you, pure and hot,
the burning
the sorrowful words of the letter
I wanted to write you.
I wanted to write you a letter
but, oh my love, I cannot understand
why it is, why, why, why it is my love
that you cannot read
and I – oh the hopelessness- cannot write
my love
a letter to tell
of this longing
to see you
and this fear
of losing you
of this thing which deeper than I want, I feel
a nameless pain which pursues me
a sorrow wrapped about my life.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
a letter of intimate secrets
a letter of memories of you
of you
your lips as red as the tacula fruit
your hair black as the dark diloa fish
your eyes gentle as the macongue
your breast hard as young maboque fruit
your light walk
your caresses
better than any that I find here.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
to bring back our days together in our secret haunts
nights lost in the long grass
to bring back the shadow of your legs
and the moonlight filtering through the endless palms,
to bring back the madness of our passion
and the bitterness of separation.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
which you could not read without crying
which you could hide from papa Bombo
and conceal from mama Kieza
which you would reread without the coldness of forgetting
a letter which would make any other
in all Kilombo worthless.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
a letter which the passing wind would take
A letter which the cashew and the coffee trees,
the hyenas and the buffalo
the alligators and the river fish
could hear
and if the wind should lose it on the way
the beast and plants
pitying our sharp sorrow
from song to song
lament to lament
breath to caught breath
would leave you, pure and hot,
the burning
the sorrowful words of the letter
I wanted to write you.
I wanted to write you a letter
but, oh my love, I cannot understand
why it is, why, why, why it is my love
that you cannot read
and I – oh the hopelessness- cannot write
BY ANTONIO JACINTO (ANGOLA)Antonio Jacinto
