you said to me: dear artist

with your avid sense for a good

fotograph: africa is dying.

that was 30 years ago

when we marvelled about your

fotographs about kenia and its

folklore/ besides its landscapes

where you grew-up.

however/ the poet and atist saw

with his mind’s eye

anna’s fascination

with the number seven.

seven muses would dance to

the ballads/ the poet dedicated

to eros.

my god! anna exclaimed/this/this

i could never write in greek –

you don’t have to –

just live it with me for a while

as long our libidos will last

and eros had shot its last bolt.

the sound of the rites of spring

had been composed with the

doing of an arrow by wayward

eros/ aimed at stravinsky –

very much in love and expressing

himself to the core of sexual love.

bravo/ bravo.

a rounddance of beautiful women

like the sudden awakening of an

african spring overnight-

colours of plum/ ivory-white/ pink

peach/ flaming red/ violet jacaranda

so the women from amber skin/ tan

cinnamon/ coffee/ ebony dusk/ and

indian red-curry/ the artist’s pallette.

eternal spring in one’s heart.




One thought on “arrow

  1. like the writer albert camus who detected in mid-winter an eternal summer in his heart – so has the poet and artits become aware of an eternal spring in his innermost – due to his african spring pallette…

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