Short Mulatto Poems

love is silly blind
When it sees and not...
the mulatto is pale
To white says cotton
to Black, coal color...

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So your daddy is white
          your mother is black
           What about you?
     Oh, you are just a little light.
      Do you want to live like white?
           or live like black?
      Hey man, I dont't want to fight
      Do you believe in civil rights?
            or the white hooded men who raid the night...

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Constant coming winds picking the petals
Dormant heart tearing the faded sky
Fluent stream seeking aura in the ray
Intent rain dries the particles of sigh

Sparrow dancing on the sun setting field
Before tigress caribou on the scenes
Scarecrow smiling on the passionate tears
To mow the mulatto let's love all skins

23.06.2020 Chattogram...

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Dear fatherland

the cradle of races
you lie among the many
with great sight of differences
in this mulatto of western languages

Oh great triangle!
you rise and fall
like ocean tides
in landscape and beauty
in patois and culture

Tell me you're not corrupt 
deny racial discrimination
country of peace
river of prawns, Africa in miniature

Cameroon....

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Her voice was soft on the telephone
She had gentility, like the part of the city she once lived

We talked of tragedy and chicory coffee
My friends had told me the situation was still grim

I asked her of Galatoire's and Brennan's
Of the Ninth Ward, and of her home

While I, pining and homesick, sipped coffee the color
Of the mulatto Mississippi River. . .

So polite and patient she was
For one who had lost everything...

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Somewhere Sabga

It lights the lamp with the fist of thunder
brightens and glows like magic power

And beyond rise the land of the stretching planes
in a geographical mulatto of landscape
hiding and speaking for Ngoketunja

To call you Borroro is not out of topic
as you rise and fall with cattle and horses

Sanctified with falls
every hill to you is a goddess
falling so well in beauty and slogan

Sabga, somewhere you are....

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I've heard him sing: The Mulatto:
By fat hotter than Roberto
Like Pepper is to Pimento;
Lost to him, too, one Alberto:
The boy friend of Fine Talatu...

Alto in all shows he goes to,
Even when beats are Staccato
Or long remains The Legato...

Yes, A very Good Contralto, 
Overly fond if Sweet Potato
He would eat with Mashed Tomato...

Harsh words for Irish Potato;
Yet harsh Teeth of Alligator:
In anger bites in their ghetto!...

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