14 February 2015

On a gare St-Lazare platform

The way she stood on that platform that morning
made me guess that she was approximately fifteen,
waiting for a train to pull in, her profound beauty
saying, while I stiffened and continued to stare
at her profile, that she would be queen someday.
She knew too well how to absorb men's looks,
breathe their aura in, and salt the charge away
in the breasts of her flesh and in valleys of her form.
The world is entering an era of great distress.
I thought she might be a fallen angel, standing there
taking men's lust in, savouring it and hoarding it,
like some well-looking new-age robot sucking in
the electricity of men. Such kind of force can
destroy a world and break the matrices of its
unfortunate hearts. I wanted to know if any volts
of my thoughts had affected her. But I was late,
so I made haste upstairs, and caught my train out.
But I'll never forget the atmosphere of danger
toward life, on that platform of gare St-Lazare.

Waslap was awarded the 2016
Glenna Luschei Prize
for African Poetry 
















La Gare St-Lazare



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