WHAT A MOVING POEM

Because I love reading, I came across this poem that moved me. It has that sense of complete affection and that deep longing of wanting to see your love. I must admit, I dropped a tear for second, so I thought that I should share it wit you,here it goes...

LETTER FROM A CONTRACT WORKER

I wanted to write you a letter

my love,

a letter that would tell

of this desire

to see you

of this fear

of losing you

of this more than benevolence that I feel of this indefinable ill that pursues me of this yearning to which I live in total surrender …

I wanted to write you a letter

my love,

a letter of intimate secrets,

a letter of memories of you,

of you

of your lips red as henna

of your hair black as mud

of your eyes sweet as honey

of your breasts hard as wild orange

of your lynx gait

and of your caresses

such that I can find no better here …

I wanted to write you a letter

my love,

that would recall the days in our haunts our nights lost in the long grass that would recall the shade falling on us from the plum trees the moon filtering through the endless palm trees that would recall the madness of our passion and the bitterness of our separation …

I wanted to write you a letter

my love,

that you would not read without sighing

that you would hide from from papa Bombo that you would withhold from mama Kieza that you would reread without the coldness of forgetting a letter to which in all Kilombo no other would stand comparison …

I wanted to write you a letter

my love

a letter that would be brought to you by the passing wind a letter that the cashews and coffee trees the hyenas and buffaloes the alligators and grayling could understand so that if the wind should lose it on the way the beasts and plants with pity for our sharp suffering from song to song lament to lament gabble to gabble would bring you pure and hot the burning words the sorrowful words of the letter I wanted to write to you …

I wanted to write you a letter …

But oh my love, I cannot understand

why it is, why, why, why it is, my dear

that you cannot read

and I – Oh the hopelessness! – cannot write!

BY ANTONIO JACINTO