yellow-bellied time,
never direct,
only when you’re certain you have survived,
certain you know the terrain of reality,
certain you know the wound and its texture,
time coils around you then springs towards you
biting at your existence
daring complacency
“You do not own this life!” Brother time castigates
“None of you do!” He harangues
It is too late for you to learn the lesson, you are dead
you are a memory more insubstantial than the smell of hope
there is a taste of melancholy in the air of this our Buganda
it tastes of the end
The end of me and the beginning of eternity
The end of me and my bones, floating forever unmoored from this, our Mabira
Fishermen relax by Lifundo river. Bengo, Angola. ©Artur Carvalho