The Moroccan way of making it official

First print your name.

Then the red stamp.

Then the signature on top of the stamp.

Poem for Nkob

''Limitless Wealth''

// 2 years is nothing; a student says to me.
How wholeheartedly I agree!

Apparently the spirits are conspiring to make me smile,
the moment i most earnestly start to crumble

::::

Crepuscular rays paint the far end of the sky,
competing for splendor and glory with
their children in the East, (the mountains I've tried to climb)
large golden clouds bursting with long-withheld rain.

Barakalah!

Slowly they wink out and so the ebullient clouds conquer the sky,
continuing to loom, evermore daunting,
filled now with the blood of a consumptive night.


If you never swim the same river,
we're doomed to never return here
no matter the many times you might come back.
The less the rain, the harder the earth,
the faster the flood carries us away.
That's alright;I'm ready to go.

Barakalah!

The gendarmes take caskrout,

the usual tea and the usual smoke.
They make such a handsome picture!
No photography's allowed - but I am given a peek.

Transfigured and dying (for such is what travel most truly means

'to have the heroism to choose one of the many paths',

ignorant but invigorated as to what´s ahead)
Im a magnet that pulls all the haggard, shining spirits
out to the streets for one last--no, one more --
verbal fête, one final Moroccan tête-a-tête//