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