Michael - Poem by Nassy Fesharaki
Tocaña in Andes
Looks too rough, uneven
Residents are Blacks; strange
Africans of the south, north, centre
Hunted and stolen; moved here for labour.
Things have changed
The land is divided
They have parts
That is why they have song
“No coca, means no life.”
I talked with, fallen and toothless man
He shouted and cried; was drunk
With his words past surfaced.
Later met, the Michael
Black; from USA.
“You? Here? ” I questioned.
“I got my diploma, real good, could become
A teacher…” he stopped.
He had left, not for home, for border
Headed for Mexico; to see world
Called his mum and informed.
“This is what I have done.”
“But my son…? ” She complained.
“What is math; I want life…”
Like Che, he, saw unseen
Worked and went saw the scenes.
His name changed to Miguel
Simple life of Yungas; pick and chew, the coca.
Coroico sees mountains of tourists
Who cross like breeze; not in tocaña; Charobamba.
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