Atara wants to listen
to the pianist
play some Chopin
in some place

in Dubrovnik
so we get dressed
in our best
have a shot

of ***** first
and a smoke
on the balcony
a look over the sea

and she says
I he'd wished play Mozart
I like Mozart
well he's playing Chopin

so that's it
I say
but he won't be playing
the piano concertos

of Chopin
she says
no he hasn't got
an orchestra with him

just him
playing alone
I say
she sits on the balcony

in her red dress
the one that I bought her
in Paris
the one she's grown out of

(not to mention it
to her of course)
she inhales
and looks

at the street below  
remember
when we made love
to Chopin's Piano Concerto

number 2​?
she asks
we didn't make love
to the concerto

we made love
with each other
I say
you know

what I mean
she says
you'd bought me
an LP

of the two concertos
and we made love
to the 2nd one
I looked at the red dress

it fitted tightly
her *******
were pushing it
to the limits

her plump knees
were showing
that red dress ok?
I ask

she looks at me
sure it is
it's my favourite
she replies

pulling at the hem
trying to pull it
over her knees
you bought it for me

in Paris
yes I did
back in 1970
is it that long ago?

two years?
yes two years
I say
gosh I don't usually

have a dress that long
she says
maybe you should
buy me a new one

she says
I bought a new one
last month
to go to that wedding

I say
O but that
was a wedding going dress
she says

I look away
look at the sea
the red dress is fine
I say

(despite what people might see)
there's a good looking dame
on the balcony over the way
I don't say.

Atara loved Dubrovnik
loved the old city walls
the shops and cafés
the churches and narrow streets

she liked sitting
drinking coffee
outside the restaurant

reading her
Schopenhauer book
a cigarette held
between fingers
watching now and then
people passing

Naaman had gone
to see a few sites
he said
rid himself
of his hangover
more like
she mused
by the sea edge
thinking
of the previous night
and too much wine
or Slivovitz

she sipped her coffee
even ***
had to be aborted
room swaying
he pronounced
although it was doing
no such thing
least not
in her head
lying in bed
wanting to sleep
not ***

she heard him snoring
some time after
from the bathroom
sprawled on the floor

the Schopenhauer book
was good even if
somewhat pessimistic
with that Eastern perspective
regarding the Will
and negation

she sipped the coffee
once more
but held the mouthful
sampling the flavour
the sense on tongue
the sensation
on the inner skin
of cheeks
warm and wet
and strong
but not bitter

she swallowed
and smiled
good
better than
the attempted ***
or that achieved
in recent months
and days

she loved Dubrovnik
and Naaman too
but he must
she mused
inhaling smoke
change his ways.

Para goces o duelos que sienta España,
Cuando el llanto o la dicha su faz enciende,
Tengo una lira humilde que la acompaña
Y un corazón de hermano que la comprende.

Por eso aquí de nuevo mi voz levanto
Y pido a pobres cuerdas sus armonías;
Ya lo sabéis vosotros, la quiero tanto
Que sus penas intensas las hago mías.

Yo vi de cerca todo lo que se encierra
De noblezas hidalgas en su recinto;
Sentí el sol de la Historia sobre esa tierra
Que vio el sol sin ocaso de Carlos Quinto.

Si allí buscáis leyendas encantadoras
Soñaréis que os arrullan notas lejanas,
De rabeles cristianos y guzlas moras
Bajo los minaretes de las Sultanas.

Soñaréis cabe albercas con arrayanes
En cautivas que lloran por sus donceles;
En alquiceles blancos y en yataganes
Sobre la verde cuesta de los Gomeles.

¡Ah! yo he visto la hermosa vega extendida
Que el Genil argentado de flores cuaja
Y soñé en otros tiempos y en otra vida
Mirando los jardines de Lindaraja.

Recogí de Granada los alhelíes
Que un sol de fuego esmalta con luz divina,
Y al cruzar por el campo de los zegríes
Me hablaba de mi patria la golondrina.

España nos recibe con regocijos
Porque colmar supimos su afán profundo,
Siente orgullo de madre que ve a sus hijos
Honrar, ya independientes, el Nuevo Mundo.

En cada leal amigo me dio un hermano
Que hizo suyos mis goces y mir pesares,
¡Porque basta en España ser mejicano
Para encontrar abiertos pechos y hogares!

Allí ninguno alienta rencor ni dolo
Al vernos vivir libres en otra esfera,
Pues saben que ostentamos de polo a polo,
Con honor y sin mancha nuestra bandera.

Ya no existe la España dominadora
Sino la Iberia hermana, que he conocido,
Y cuya lengua rica, dulce y sonora,
Honramos en la tierra donde he nacido.

Ya no existe la España grave y austera
Que lanzó en sus legiones fieros aludes,
Que Cortés hizo odiosa con una hoguera
Y vindicó Las Casas con sus virtudes.

Soldados de Alvarado; reyes aztecas;
Todos sois polvo vano; ya nada existe;
De aquella edad aun tiemblan las hojas secas
Del árbol que recuerda «la noche triste».

Se quebró la macana que el casco abolla;
La inquisición no ostenta tizones rojos;
Y al fundirse dos razas nació la criolla
De apiñonado cutis y negros ojos.

La de pies diminutos y andar galano,
La que junta con dulce melancolía
Lo humilde y apacible del tipo indiano
Al garbo y a la gracia de Andalucía.

¡Oh España! ¡oh noble España! tú nos
legaste
Una fe y una lengua; tienes derecho
A buscar en los pueblos que aquí formaste
El corazón hidalgo que hay en tu pecho.

España es igual siempre bajo tu rayo
¡Oh sol del patriotismo que la iluminas!
¡Resucitó a sus héroes del Dos de Mayo
Al ver amenazadas las Carolinas!

¿Cómo no tributarle justos honores
Al laurel siempre vivo que la enguirnalda?
Unamos nuestra enseña de tres colores
A su gloriosa enseña de rojo y gualda.

Hoy que triste se envuelve con gasa negra
Que le atara un espectro de heladas manos;
Cual fraternal tributo llegue a Consuegra
El óbolo que mandan los mejicanos,

¡Oh caridad sublime! ¡Sol que derramas
De amor y de consuelo rayos ardientes!
Mira cómo a tu influjo son nuestras damas
Los ángeles de guarda de los ausentes.

Campos ayer hermosos, son tristes yermos;
Escombros los hogares; las dichas, penas;
Los espíritus sanos gimen enfermos
¡Aliviad tantos males las almas buenas!

¡Oh! bien hacéis vosotras en ser primeras
En consolar amantes, tanta agonía;
¡Para aliviar desgracias ya no hay fronteras!
¡La Caridad no tiene ciudadanía!

¡Damas que sois las joyas de nuestro suelo
Y galardón y gloria de sus hogares;
Vuestras altas virtudes bendice el cielo;
Vuestra piedad un pueblo tras de los mares!

A la ofrenda tan noble que haréis mañana,
Yo la inscripción pusiera cual la merece:
Los ángeles de Anáhuac, para su hermana
La España de Cristina y Alfonso Trece.

Atara loved the sun
and laying on the beach
in a deckchair
in her bikini
and sunglasses

I preferred the shade
a cool beer
and reading a book

she came in
the hotel room
tanned and cooked

I sat on the chair
by the open window
white and cool

you're like a snow man
she said
sitting all white
open necked shirt
white trousers
why don't you come out
to the beach
and get some sun
get those arms
and features brown?

prefer my whiteness
and being cool
and a good cold beer
I said

she stood by the shower door
and pouted her lip
why come
all the way out here
to sit in the shade
and read a **** book?

I like sight seeing
not sun worshipping
I like museums
and art galleries
not seeing other people’s
sweating bodies

you are such a bore
she said

you didn't say that night

she looked at me
wrinkled up her nose
that was different
she said

you didn't mind
my white body then
I said

I couldn't see it
in the dark

and I couldn't see
your tan either

what's wrong
with the beach though?
she said

too hot and smells
of sun oil and stinking flesh
I said

they have men on the beach
with big brown bodies
and muscles
she said

they also have dames
who look over cooked
and big busted
I said

I’m going for a shower
she said

don't wash off the tan
I said

why don't you
shower with me?
she said

I prefer to shower alone

don't you want
my body any more?
she said sexily

not in the shower

you are so square
she said
walking off
for a shower
so fecking SQUARE
she yelled
and slammed the door

a cool breeze
came through the window
I sipped my beer
and turned another page
of the book
I could hear
the shower going
but didn't go and look.

What are you reading?
Atara asked.

Book on Schopenhauer,
I said.

Dull reading.

Depends on what you like.

She sipped her coke,
her eyes studying
the cover of the book.
Is that him?

Yes, old photograph.

She looked at me.
Why do you read
such dull books?

Maybe I'm a dull guy.

She smiled.
Not last night.

I closed the book
and laid it
on the table.
I sipped my beer.

Does he talk
about ***?
She asked.

Not that I’ve read
so far.

If a book doesn't mention ***
it isn't worth reading.

Maybe I should read Freud.

Why read?

I looked at the waiter
passing the table,
his clipped moustache,
his deep eyes.  

You read,
I said,
not heavy stuff,
but you do read.

I like my books
like I like my men:
not too deep and fun.

I said nothing
about my books
and women.

She didn't have
the depth
and she taught me
nothing,
although
that session
in the bathroom
had insight.

The way she had it
right down
to a fine art,
the subtleness
of her limbs,
her gyrations,
her lips and tongue.

What now?
She asked.
I fancy a walk
on the beach,
catch some sun.

You go,
I said,
I want to chill out
with a cold beer
and watch life go by.

She pulled a face sulkily,
but went off,
her hips doing
that thing they did
when she was annoyed.

I watched her go,
sipped the beer,
icy cold
like I enjoyed.

You break me at every opportunity you get and I let you,
I feel drained, disrespected and unloved,
Am always left to collect the broken pieces,
Trying to stick them together for our sake, no my sake….
You don’t care and you are never remorseful,
What is wrong with me?

Am young, wrinkled, hopeless and self-destructive,
This energy I use could be put in good use,
But I can’t even sell an Avocado in this state,
“Drink more water for your skin”. They say.
“But it’s not my skin; it’s my heart”. I murmur….
I have fed on broccoli, spinach, marinated tofu and a glass of wine….but my heart…
What’s wrong with me?

Then you come back, your smile, your sweet words that confuse me,
No apologies, no explanations; the one, who my heart longs for,
I take you back with no expectations,
My face glows, my energy at its best and everyone thinks, I took gallons of water…
But yet again at night I can’t sleep, wondering how and when you will leave….
What is wrong with me?

Written By  Atara Atenya from Nairobi,Kenya.