Wednesday 30 November 2011

friends of the blog


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 
BY ANTONIO JACINTO (ANGOLA)Antonio Jacinto

Thursday 24 November 2011

He,She who is not loved..........

I am He who must be forgotten
sacrificed,sidelined
I am She who must not be seen,
a terrible thing ,a sin
a child born out of wedlock.

I am She who must not be heard
a bad past,
history which must be erased fast.
He who is a mistake,who must remain forever in the shadows.

I am He denied of love,
a gift ,No!, certainly not from the Gods above.
Denied of maternal love ,left to suffer
I am She without a voice.

I am He unworthy of love and happiness,
She left to suffer the pain,
The voiceless, I suffer in silence because
I am HE,She who is not loved.

By. Chris Chakwana  (Zimbabwe)