Vagabond bit 1

May 11th, 2013

I have adopted a mother. I love her voice, her tone, lawless and joyous in its errors.
My native, my original mother have long ago became too demanding, censorous, as if I owed her something. Even admitting that I did, I could not, I did not want to follow her lead, however gentle or poetic it might have been in her grace days. I ignored her, I deliberately translated things she wanted me to answer to my adopted mother.
A mongrel, my new mother, having come from Caribbean, France, Americas, Africa, Arabia and England – always not quite at home, always not good enough, not there enough.
My old mother comes to me at times, raging and mad: I cannot make sense of her, how vulgar she has become, how desperate to have me – her rhythm and emphasis escapes me, her wisdom makes the world shatter in pieces as if to say that there’s no longer a place for me.
I, the son of two mothers – one half dead, another still naked – persist between madness and childish desires.
Kissing the tongue of my young mother, listening to what’s leaving my first one.
Embracing a being of homeless ones, building a home for those, who will never come.

Texts | Comments

Comments are closed.


Monthly Archives