back in Bissau velho

the smell of mold and accumulated
bat droppings fills the air!
Ah, back in Bissau velho!

The night air is smokey brown.
My cunhado has blocked off the road
in front of his restaurant.
All the brothers & sisters
and nieces & nephews
and old friends are gathered.

Ah, back in Bissau velho!

I take a sip of red wine
and in memory of the ancestors
& pour a bit on the ground
for their spirits to enjoy.

Ah, back in Bissau velho!

One more verse before the end.
The fragrance of bat droppings
fills the air. Love, pure love
is true. False faces quickly
fade from memory.

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Author: Raymond Maxwell

https://raymmaxx.wordpress.com/ Librarian and archivist-in-training, retired foreign service officer and former naval officer.

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