from Winds from Yonderheart

Patron Henekou

farewell from Lampedusa

               for Cal

and, out of silence
this grief is born:
heavy
long
deep.
and the breath turns flesh
hatched out of the heat at the bottom of the sigh.
and the heart became stone,
Ruby
and pushed the breath out of this place
in tensed rhythms:
            systole
                        systole
silence!

a music gushed from the bottom of the sigh
            vivid
                        powerful
                                    Jazz!
and filled this room
clinging to the life of a red glowing light,
it, it alternates with the darkness of the room.
and this music filled the stone
and the stone becomes heart

Sapphire
and carries the breath in rhythms aspirated
            diastole
                        Jazz
                                    coco Jazz
coco choco Jazz dressed with raisins!

the flop-flop-flop of the waves rejoin me
in this world of dreams
sudden
the freshness of the waters swallowed me
and i shiver out of cold
overwhelmed by the souvenirs of a new
life ambushed in my fists.

i re-see
at present
the brightness, though out-of-the-world, of your
smile
the charm in your
eyes
and my heart rises into waves of blood and of sighs
of doubts and of smiles
overcome by these rhythms:

            systole
                        systole
                                    Jazz!
            diastole
                        systole
Jazz with the aromas of La Piedra!

farewell, my
love
my
beloved,
a life torn away from a smile.
the heart becomes stone
and keeps the grief inside its heart
along the coasts of

Lampedusa,

the absence of you with it.





letter xv: to the spokesperson of parliament

they eat
before the curfew
the legs of cockroaches
covered with droppings

they go
behind the curfew
to expropriate the tombs of the neighbors
too concerned about their own past. at least
they, the neighbors,
can proudly beat their chest for having
a roof over their bodies
still dripping of maggots and juices.

here,
thousands of their like
litter our eyes
their dreams smashed up in the skull
without any shelter
nor mortuary lands
to rest sorrows and hopes.
they walk
ahead of bullets
looking for afterlife motherlands

one day
hopefully
the eyes of the world
will come and count/recount their fate
for the sake of fairness
in the sharing
of Phosphate
of Oil
of Diamonds
and of national disgrace.

translated from the French by Patron Henekou