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Elegy for a thunderstorm
What is a storm if not weeping? and the boy washing himself in the storm with rough hands and soap is he not a great trunk of water attracting thirsty looks on the track? rain grieves when our loved-ones suffer drought it fills our ears with sadness how can we not weep when rain weakens and the storm is bled? one restless afternoon a thunderstorm like a stampede of buffalos like a panther hide thrown over the earth roaring and hissing like a colossal road traffic accident on the muddiest section of motorway between Addis Abeba and the underworld when everyone rats into their holes and the town sags and starts to break apart the possibilities for great naughtiness spring up amongst wet children even rainbuckets lick their lips as another thunder crash unties a row of houses and the storm looks at itself, amazed by its own strength frightened even, knows full well this is too much water in a land of famine after famine too purple this shower for a folk with such clean noses a religion washed in Nile-water so the storm looks for a tap somewhere up there in the kitchen clouds and turns itself off to peels of great bell-drops banging down on roofs that cause even the roofs them-tin-selves and the boy scrubbing his arms to sing this elegiac drum roll for the unforgettable thunderstorm of their life since none of us is half as strong as our desires (from Tenderfoot) Lemon for love Today Mahmoud Ahmed is singing again wailing out of Abebe’s radio lemon for love! lemon for love! lemon you are so sweet his voice is long and stringy as a branch it throws the lemon down at his girlfriend’s feet lemon for love! lemon you are so tasty! if she picks it up, it means she will marry him now the chorus is shouting hohohohoho! clapping all its hands, stamping its fifty feet now Abebe’s fingers are jumping and clicking shoulders shaking! knees popping! because the girl in the song is beautiful as Makda Queen of Sheba and yes! she has bent to pick up the lemon Mahmoud Ahmed, you must never stop singing your voice can make anything happen it twists round my brain like the roots of a tree it opens a fresh leaf in my heart Mahmoud Ahmed, if I sit here by Abebe’s window will you throw my lemon for me? (from Ethiopia Boy) |
Click on this photo to listen to Mahmoud Ahmed singing Lomiwen teqebelech (She accepted the lemon) 
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እናቴ ከመልካዋ
ከመንግሥት ፈቃድ፣ ሰነድም ሳያሻት፣ እናቴን በምሥጢር፣ በውስጤ ደብቄያት፣ በናፍቆት አርግዛኝ፣ በናፍቆት አርግዣት፣ አሥራ ስምንት ዓመት፣ ቆይቼ ሳኖራት፣ አሁን ግን እምዬን፣ በሞት ስንቀማ፣ የተስፋዬ ጨረር፣ አጽናኜ የነበር፣ በናፍቆት ጨለማ፣ ከልቤ ወጣና፣ እሱም ተስፋ ቆርጦ፣ መንታ አነባ እኔ ጋ፣ ሃዘን ተቀምጦ። |
My mother in her country town
by Alemu Tebeje I did not need a permit to keep my mother deep inside of me for eighteen years, her sadness at not seeing me, my sadness at not seeing her. But after eighteen years she died and then the tiny ray of hope inside the sadness of not seeing her slipped out of me and sat down on the ground and wept. |
