"propre" poems - Hello Poetry

You lived alone in the solititude Of pure hundred years in Colombia Roaming in Amacondo with a Spanish tongue Carrying the bones of your grandmother in a sisal sag On your poverty written Colombian back, Gadabouting to make love in times of cholera, On none other than your bitter-sweet memories Of your melancholic ***** the daughter of Castro, Your cowardice made you to fear your momentous life In this glorious and poetic time of April 2014, Only to succumb to untimely black death That similarly dimunitized your cultural ancestor; Miguel de Cervantes, a quixotic Spaniard, You were to write to the colonel for your life, Before eating the cockerel you had ear-marked For Olympic cockfight, the hope of the oppressed, Come back from death, you dear Marquez To tell me more stories fanaticism to surrealism, From Tarzanic Africa the fabulous land An avatar of evil gods that are impish propre Only Vitian Naipaul and Salman Rushdie are not enough, For both of them are so naïve to tell the African stories, I will miss you a lot the rest of my life, my dear Garbo, But I will ever carry your living soul, my dear Garcia, Soul of your literature and poetry in a Maasai kioondo On my broad African shoulders during my journey of art, When coming to America to look for your culture That gave you versatile tongue and quill of a pen, Both I will take as your memento and crystallize them Into my future thespic umbrella of orature and literature.

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Apr 20, 2014

Apr 20, 2014 at 4:57 AM UTC

alexander-k-opicho

GABRIEL GARCIA MARQUEZ

You lived alone in the solititude Of pure hundred years in Colombia Roaming in Amacondo with a Spanish tongue Carrying the bones of your grandmother in a sisal sag On your poverty written Colombian back, Gadabouting to make love in times of cholera, On none other than your bitter-sweet memories Of your melancholic ***** the daughter of Castro, Your cowardice made you to fear your momentous life In this glorious and poetic time of April 2014, Only to succumb to untimely black death That similarly dimunitized your cultural ancestor; Miguel de Cervantes, a quixotic Spaniard, You were to write to the colonel for your life, Before eating the cockerel you had ear-marked For Olympic cockfight, the hope of the oppressed, Come back from death, you dear Marquez To tell me more stories fanaticism to surrealism, From Tarzanic Africa the fabulous land An avatar of evil gods that are impish propre Only Vitian Naipaul and Salman Rushdie are not enough, For both of them are so naïve to tell the African stories, I will miss you a lot the rest of my life, my dear Garbo, But I will ever carry your living soul, my dear Garcia, Soul of your literature and poetry in a Maasai kioondo On my broad African shoulders during my journey of art, When coming to America to look for your culture That gave you versatile tongue and quill of a pen, Both I will take as your memento and crystallize them Into my future thespic umbrella of orature and literature.