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From the favela

April 19, 2012

From the favela the lady went down to view.
From the intimate bustle,
And the touch of human clamour.
From behind the curtain of discretion
And the secret warmth of home.
Where the forgotten forest forces through fissures
Of encasing concrete.


Away from the privacy of alienation
That welcome mutter
Bom dia!
A side step on the upward step or down.
No grand façade or colourful display.
To the motorway to somewhere
And the mighty silver glitter stage for the world
To gaze upon.
The backdrop of nondescript haunts
And hideaways
The space for the mundane in carefully selected costumes
The paraders must not catch the watcher’s eye.
The energetic power-walkers
With bouncing golden bosoms
Thighs honed to perfect and buttocks trimmed.
Here the forest must not appear,
Only a strategically placed palm
Its emerald fronds bow only when directed.
The sculpted children and coiffured hounds
Obediently maintain jovial front.
For the lady who keeps her distance
Behind her conveniently placed and chilled coconut water.

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2 Comments leave one →
  1. April 18, 2014 8:10 am

    Reblogged this on Living, Libraries and [Dead] Languages and commented:

    This week there is opportunity to celebrate a little; after their accident and confinement my daughter and her partner have returned home. Although there is still a long way to as regards getting back to complete mobility they are at least in a position to try to fend for themselves.
    So while the library is closed for Easter, I remember back to our first visit to Rio and panic a little when reminded of the uneven steps that two people with broken legs and crutches will have to negotiate daily for a few more weeks.

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