Along the Niger

Sinews of the brawny brown river, flexing and stressing,
Bending back and forth, around and about,
Churning back on itself at the edges,
Big blocks of water rushing past each other, upstream and down...
You seek its source, the watershed of a dream.

Phantasmagorical Africa,
Common portents everywhere in the light of day,
Weird as the white eyes of the river-blind...
The diseased body cohabits with its parasites,
Worms and viruses that fly by night
And home into the bloodstream...

Drums quake the earth, and women swim
Through you, pour over you, soak you to the bone,
Thrusting and swaying, the mellifluous orbs
Of their buttocks rub you up and down,
Their bodies flow over your stones.
The moon rises, wet and dripping,
And the women’s strong feet pound the ground
In the fateful rumba of life.

The river eats men,
Black whirlpools swallow everything,
Whatever is thrown into its jaws will vanish forever.
From a little jetty, village lads
Line up and hurl themselves in, naked and glistening,
Lauging with wild abandon,
Heedless of danger.

To be the hunter or the hunted; you choose.
The jungle is nothing but movement,
And you must tap its power, its breath, flow wht it,
Through branches and roots,
Believing in victory, in survival,
Before the ultimate inevitable defeat.