if ever there
was a Bogota
i'd be barefootedly
dancing in the streets
if ever a city
named Cartagena
i wouldn't be able
to contain myself
and if there ever
was a Cali i'd be
embracing you
instead of making
you up in my head
reassuring me that
you are real and
that this dream
of you
and i
we're
true
The mask has been dropped,
The black tar has faded away,
The red muddy potatoes have been cleaned.
The land has turned green,
The dead body has been washed away,
The ghosts of river Victoria have brought their fays,
The racism,
The therapy,
Are all over under way,
Hey! Hey! Hey!
The sky became blue again,
The migrant sparrow came back to the motherland,
The Steve Biko's spirit shaded the crowd,
Ahmed Savana' called like mad,
The Amanda,..
The little orphans found adopting parents,
The widow, the widower, the homeless came to dine,
Life is fine,
Life is all now joy,
Under the ANC boy,
The black...is back,
Mandela is here,
After a decade, after a Bogota,
After a tyranny, and after a Declerck!..
I could have been a movie star
I could have owned the fastest car
or run the longest race, by far,
from Bangalore to Bogota.
I could have been an astronaut,
or soldier proud who bravely fought;
a demon on the tennis court
or mastered chess, without a thought.
But none of this has come to head.
My aspirations all have fled,
to my regret, it must be said.
And so I’ll dream, once more – in bed!
~
For Frank's "REGRETS" Competition.
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