a murmur can say more than the
bees’ song when your soul arrives
safe at the right meeting with the
memories or ready at the last feat
of those who never left the scrabble
of the tank at the bottom of midnight

maybe sailing alone was never the goal
maybe siding with them was too late
because Kolofata never hid his faith
neither its hate for the guns when the
birds were too silent to hear their charm
or too far to be on time at the morning’s
room where dreams never left the burg

Kolofata was there showing his fate
and i was darkening my little
white sheet with words and begging
my heart to stay faithful before the last
call of the trip

Kolofata was here dancing despite
the storm and I was blackening my
little white sheet with sonnets before
dealing with those head-stalkers
the new renters of the tormented ride

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Photo by Edouard TAMBA on Unsplash