Antilliaanse Cahiers. Jaargang 1-2

[p. 40]

The seagull

Would it be easier
to find the call of the gulls
in the night
or the blasts of noisy
rhythmic songs of the dark doors
where the heat sings forth
the waves of secret thoughts
in passages of the brain

The birds the beasts
would crash
the squeamish saints
with more heavenly thoughts
than they ever dreamt of in this world
of our dreams

The seagulls are the
strongest birds
and never waver in the air
their squealing
stutters
in the air
penetrating the soft brain
of the lower birds
their screaming blasting
noisily
fill our brains
they are the reigning glory
of the maker
and so believe themselves
croaking in the winds at nightfall

[p. 41]

 

In cold heaven they are

 

huge proportioned strongly winged

 

magnitudes

 

and smaller prouder stronger still

 

in hellish tropic heat

 

the blasted noisy rhythmic songs

 

in narrow streets of a yellow fiery

 

sanctuary