Red is the New GreenDecember 21, 2016
Show Me The MoneyMarch 17, 2017
Echoes from Africa
If I sang a song about Africa
Of the spotted giraffe, the hyena’s laugh Of the fiery sun rising to meet the day
With a stillness belying the lion’s evening meal; Would Africa sing a song about me?
If I remembered a time once in Africa,
Bride at my shoulder, chasing a leopard’s shadow With human eyes and Nikon shutters wide apart Invading the solitude of blackened ancestors; Would Africa remember a time once with me?
If I knew a story of Africa
Capturing a disappearing continent for a moment in time Fleeting – far briefer than the earth’s reign;
At least until its dusty death, Would Africa know a story of me?
– With appreciation for Isak Dinesen
I traveled once to Africa, as you might have guessed by now, and it’s been a part of me ever since. Being perhaps the cradle of civilization, if not life itself, Africa casts an eerie glow over the entire history and, indeed, meaning of existence. There’s a strange beauty to it – this eat and be eaten land – brutal, yet fair and loving underneath its violent surface. I think it’s how I view my own life. I saw myself in Africa and, of course, through my own eyes I saw you there, too. The question however, that ends every stanza of my poem is whether Africa saw and will remember me. Are we just passing through without a trace following our dusty deaths? Will anyone, or anything, at the end of the line be the better for our time on earth? I, myself, know nothing of a grand scheme of existence, but I wish there to be one – if only to give meaning to our precious moments of happiness and frequent hours of despair.