1.
Ribben, schuimen, golven, schelpen, zonder zon.
Bruin, groen, ver, verduisterd en zacht.
Hard, en persistent. Ritme en vervaagd.
In de verte iets rood.
De hemel en de horizon.
Grijs, grijs, grijs, en nog meer grijs.
Nat, zacht, wit, groen, paars, geel
en de rest van de regenboog.
Dit is waar ik nu ben.
Ameland
2.
Forgive me.
I have overstepped.
I am going backwards,
I am blind and rued.
Inconvenient and selfish.
I am stepping the wrong steps.
Making the wrong choices.
Doing the wrong things.
I only see where I have been.
That is clear to me.
I am unaware of where I am going.
The wind is at my side.
My steps trace backwards.
My back is my front.
That is what leads me.
It senses, it does not see.
It feels, it guesses, hoping for the best.
Trusting that the sand will not end.
3.
As long as I do not move it will not shift.
It holds my weight. It remembers me, tracing my foot print, my steps.
But as long as I stay still it will record nothing. If I am still, if I am steady,
I will not be seen.
Once I move, chaos.
Shifts, cracks, sinks and breaks.
Blocks out of ribs. Waves and chunks of unsightly things. It tracks, it remembers,
but if I stay, peace.
And nothing happens, it is quite.
It is blind. It knows only my weight.
Until it shifts.
4.
Wet, always on the move.
Unsteady. Eroding.
Roles, hills, balls and tumbles of wet grey beige. Spring into spikes of yellow and green.
Pines and pines, prickling along the back.
Death, shadows browning chirps.
Spars but then a burst!
Growing taller and think.
Piercing the sky with dark green,
and promising brown.
Rows and rows blending into one.
A jagged skyline far from the flat and wet, yet close enough to cast a shadow.
5.
Wet, green, grey and beige.
A hard oval cover with soft spikes.
Bending under the weight of a teary sky.
Touch it and it will die.
As Blue as Gold
I miss the warm waters.
I even miss the persistent sun.
I miss the calm of the sea and its breeze.
I miss the glorious heat, the penetrating rays and their impossible weight.
I miss the taste of the air
and the comfort of the cool shade.
I miss your colors, both blue and gold.
Piedra di Laman
‘Bosa mi no ta di aki.
Mi ta bin di afó.
Unbes lo mi bula bai bèk,
pero pa awor aki mi ta serka bo.
Di kustumber mi tei.
I pa Kiko mi ta bai.
Mi kiera sa ken tur ta aki banda,
pero djis lo mi bai bèk ayanan.
Piedra di laman.
Kos firme pero di awa.
Mi kustumber ta pa kambia,
adaptá i biahá.
Tera Pretu, Piedra Duru
Friu ta kue mi pia,
ankrá den profundidat.
Mi a subi laira, waya kontra di bientu.
Bringa pa mi derechi di tá.
Mi tabata sa ku un dia lo mi no tei,
Den e momentu aki mi ta eksisti.
Lomba semper lo dobla pa boluntat di shelu.
Tronkon firme tambe lo kai.
Toro lo buska refugio bou di bo brasa,
pero no lubida ku bo sombra tei
pa benefisio di bo tera.
Waya kontra di bientu,
bringa pa bo derechi di tá.
Ku tempu lo mi garna.
Lo bo no tin nodi di buska’mi.
Mi rais lo marka mi ausensia.
I awa semper lo kòrda mi.
Mi a kana mi kaminda.
Wak ariba.
Einan mi gloria lo bria pa semper.
Rekuerdo I
Mi ta kòrda un brisa fuerte.
Un solo hel i kayente.
Awa salu, mata yen di sumpiña.
Lagadishi den kas di wela.
I yuana den palu di bisiña.
Mi ta kòrda baranka grandi i serunan chikitu. Trupial ku barika hel.
Mi a plèita, zundra, yora.
Kana den kunuku di mi tio grandi.
I kome kadushi serka madrina.
Mi a kore kaminda pa Bandabou,
ku un sonrisa grandi riba mi kara.
Mi a baila bachata, bon malu,
na kas di mi tanchi.
Mi a kana pia’bou riba klip na vlak di Hato. Mi ta kòrda zundramentu i hopi pleitu.
Mi no ta kòrda Pápá su stem.
I kua tabata e kantika mayor.
Mi ta kòrda un tera duru ku poko sombra.
Isla di bientu i infròu, kadushi,
datu ku milon di seru.
Isla rondoná ku blòu.
Mi ta kòrda polushon i korpushon.
Gobièrnu ta kai i otro ta subi
i hasi mes un kos.
Mi ta kòrda pasku na misa Groot Kwartier. Tiru na Otrobanda, i klapchi ku donderbos riba Saliña.
Falling
Trees fall everyday.
You can see them rise,
high up into the sky.
Their branches extend
and spread out as wide as the horizon.
Nurtured by the ground.
Yet trees fall everyday.
Fall my beautiful trees.
Father will catch you.
Plunge deep into the water.
Turn wood into stone.
Dolerite sinks into the blue.
Swirling and crashing into waves.
Sink and let your blue soul rise.
Trees fall everyday,
but never in vain.
They are transfigured into sand,
by father’s grace.
Nos Dos, Den Dos
Kòrá, bientu fuerte.
Bandabou nos ta bai.
Den baki di papa su pikòp bieu.
Nos dos patras.
Ami ta sinta yen di miedu,
pero ku bo, tur kaminda lo mi bai.
Nos dos ta karga otro.
Sea di kurason òf di alma.
Ku bo mi ta kore drenta laman,
mondi i kualke kueba.
Nos dos, den dos.
Parti dor di awa.
Fòrsá di sa mundu mi so.
Un bèrdat ku mi mes a krea.
Ami a bai laga ‘bo.
Mi a kibra un kos bon.
Di alma mi ta karga’bo,
paso mi kurason no por tei mas serka bo.
Supla duru. Laga awa kai.
Solo lo sali di nobo.
I nos lo topa bèk.
Riba kaminda pa Bandabou.
Den baki di papa su pikòp nobo.
The First Star
The first star appeared when the sun was still out. She could barely compete with the pink and yellow light.
The first star was stubborn. She loomed in baby blue, staying steady in the sky as the sun dipped under the waves.
The first star danced around the moon. Twinkling with a rhythm unknown. Her code could only be deciphered while she shined upon you.
Eventually more dancing and twinkling stars would emerged. Dotting the dark sky with red, blue, yellow, white and purple lights.
Still, the first star shined the brightest. Piercing the darkness with her gentle aqua light. Ruling the night with a gleam.
The first star’s beauty is rivalled only by the rising sun. She is always the last to leave, fading, as her reign ends with a wave of warm saffron brilliance.
Strong Winds
Do not be fooled by strong winds
from beyond the horizon.
They always start with a breeze.
Before the clouds move in,
dominating the sky.
I grew up under their rain,
and their thunders howl.
They bend the spine of the trees.
Covering homes with red dust.
Their breeze may be beautiful,
but their storms always devastate.
White Veils in the Sky
Toro, riba awa bo no por manda. Laman ta hasi ku bo loke e ke. Tristu ta ora pia no por mishi ku suela. Rais den laira, rama bou di awa.
Fighting bulls yield little mystery. They are born out of selfish acts denounced by the Land.
They are creatures of the Horizon. Motivated by consumption.
They carry heavy sins. The weight of which they cannot bear. So they sink into the abyss. Dipping under Fathers veil, entangling themselves in his obstinance.
Horns turn into foam and float into the air. Watch how their white soul rises, while their own veil catches the wind.White Bulls are not free. They are forever bound to the air.
The Horizon gives them the right to be.
He claims to know their hart as he preys on their souls. Heaven blessed these angels with an unwavering gaze. He lured them in, trapping them in his kingdom of mirage.
These angels strike fear in the hart of the land. They bring thunder, lightning and cloudy skies. They howl up above, in constant indignation.
White veils in the sky, find your own peace.
I cannot offer you forgiveness, neither can the sky. Do not trap your selfs in unholy bonds. Denounce this vicious cycle and let it be done.
The wind comes with the sea. Be its calming breeze, and leave howling gales be.
Bon Dia
Hesta un dushi dia. Un maravia. Solo hel ta subi poko poko bai ariba. Ni un nubia den shelu. Rustig, gezellig, un dushi mainta. Un dia nobo. Un bista genial. Den klaridat di dia niun sombra no por kue mi. Un bon mainta. Ku poko pena. Poko duda. Sin ni un molester. Zumbi ta kima ku hel di dia. Bientu fresku. Aire nobo. Kas ta lusi manera un tesoro. Esta dushi ta rondona ku mata kriá dor di papa. Bon dia, felis mainta. Pa’bo i bo bisiña.
Ananzi’s gift
The wisdom Ananzi collected from the world spilled into the Ocean. For Ananzi’s kalbas could no longer contain it all.
It spread around the world, but none could hold it.
Many tried to take it, keep it, store it, hoard it,
but still none could own it. Until cups were made.
Cups of bronze forged in the burning flames of desire. Finaly the world could share the enlightenment.
Refuse to share it, it will evaporate back into the sphere. For all must enjoy this knowledge, and none can ever claim it.
Knowledge and wisdom flows in abundance.
That is our gift.
Rekuerdo III
Mi ta kòrda sensia floriante.
Bulamentu di kandela, i shinishi riba frenta.
Momo a kima!
I mi ta bendishoná ku awa maravia.
I remember lights.
The sharp sound of chapi
and the howling of kachu.
I remember playing in the red sand
and flooding the backyard.
How I would climb the clothesline pole,
and scrape my skin on the rusty scraps in my grandfathers old carport.
The days seemed longer, and the week went on for ages, as my brother and I would fight over imaginary places.
There were days
where I would have to walk home.
I would scowl and drag my feet.
Now I sit here remembering it with much glee.
I remember the nature, dry but still green.
Cactus after cactus and thorny bushes.
I swam with turtles
and was frightened by bees.
I remember crying over spilled milk
and braking a vase over my own feet.
Pizza once a year just in time for Christmas Eve.
If I try hard enough I could remember it all.
But I no longer want the taste of ghostly meals.
I have dwelled in these old memories long enough. It is now time to sail on home.
Time to return.
Bo ta hasi falta.
Tur anochi mi ta soña ku bo roseya. Sintá na otro banda di mar, mi ta mira nubia tapa mi. Mi ta resa pa rayo di solo iluminá mi, paso bo no tin fin di yega serka di mi. Pues ta keda na ami pa bai buska bo.