“The Word” by Andrés Rozada

…You hear stories, of but a few words, that speak of a poet touched by the hand of God. Such was the greatness of this poet that he’d managed to capture all his work in one single Word. A Word that contained the entire universe, complete with its oceans and deserts. A Word of infinite…

King Quake

  Super quake, Saint Tremor, King Tremor, Great Earthfreak. Riftmaker. Great splitter, terror of the Cuauhtémoc Earthly indigestion, urban rattle.   Thirty years ago, in Eighty-five, From Acapulco to the District We felt your fury, O King of the Quakes.   Today along the city streets Between car and tortilla fumes, The rumour spreads in…

Platform 36 reloaded

The train was late at Gare du Nord. My Lord Buddha was waiting on Platform 36. Patiently. The train led to nowhere, which was fine. Om mane padme… (Artist: WCA) “Unknown traveler” by BToy. (The titles were not given by the Authority. I’m just making them up.) 😉 “I‘ve been waiting for this train for…

The writer’s den

An old dilapidated 19th century house at the end of an unkempt garden. The door was open. To an uncanny display. I was expecting yet another series of altars to the dead such as the one above. Or an offering of corn, arranged on volcanic earth, framed by flowers. (Stage right) Or, stage left, a…

Crows reloaded

Previously on Crows: Pete, the narrator, is a young white journalist born and raised in Kenya. After covering tribal unrest in the North for a Kenyan newspaper he goes back to Nairobi. Needs a break. Maybe he will resign, maybe leave Africa. He goes to Lamu, a small island on the coast of Kenya, by…

The black Queen

Nguyen Van Ty was a peaceful man. He’d arrived at the small village in Tonkin many years ago. Apparently from nowhere. Some of the villagers said he had a Saïgon accent, others assured he came from the Imperial city of Hué. He was dressed as a peasant, but his manners, his education, his delicate hands…

“Doc”

  “Doc! Doc”! “What’s the matter, Raphaela? We’ll never finish on time if you keep interrupting!” “Sorry Doc, we have an emergency. The Boss is coming down to the Lab. In five minutes.” “Damn! How do you know?” “Gabby called me. And she says the Boss is in a bad mood. Very. So we’d better…

Breakfast in Istanbul. Part 2.

I needed to get dressed for that party the Philosopher had invited me to. And, of course, I had nothing to wear. Please do not smile my reader friend. That is always a delicate matter. The little black dress (Oh Tiffany! Oh, Givenchy!) is of course, always a possibility. But no. Too easy. I wondered…