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Letter from a Contract Worker
Antonio Jacinto, Angola
transl. by E. Mphahele
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
a letter to tell
of this longing
to see you
and this fear
of losing you
of this thing which is deeper than I want,
I feel a nameless pain which pursues me
a sorrow wrapped about my life.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
a letter of intimate secrets
a letter of memories
of you
your lips as red as the tacula fruit
your hair black as the dark diloa fish
your eyes gentle as the macongue
your breasts hard as young maboque fruit
your light walk
your caresses
better than any that I can find down here.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
to bring back our days together
in our secret haunts
night lost in the long grass
to bring back the shadow of your legs
and the moonlight
filtering through the endless palms,
to bring back the madness of our passion
and the bitterness of separation.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
which you could not read without crying
which you would hide from your father Bombo
and conceal from your mother Kieza
which you would read without the indifference
of forgetfulness,
a letter which would make any other
in all Kilombo worthless.
I wanted to write you a letter
my love
a letter which the passing wind would take
a letter which the cashew and the coffee trees,
the hyenas and the buffalo,
the caymens and the river fish
could hear
the plants and the animals
pitying our sharp sorrow
from song to song
lament to lament
breath to caught breath
would leave to you,
pure and hot,
the burning
the sorrowful words of the letter
I wanted to write to you.
I wanted to write you a letter
But my love,
I don’t know why it is,
why, why, why it is, my love,
but you can’t read
and Ioh the hopelessness—I can’t write.
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Letter from a Contract Worker