K-R-K-

sometimes my writing doesn’t go well
especially in English
which I still find difficult to master
because of all the little words
that cast so many doubts in my poor mind

and there is no one for me to ask
at four in the morning
if I should put a that here
or a which

a witch!

then there is this problem
that when I am reading it becomes harder
for me to hear my own genuine thoughts

if they exist at all, I mean
the genuine thoughts

in Rutshuru where I stayed with the doctors
there were many books rotting in a corner
of the living room
where it was all about beer
and watching African football on an old TV set

you should take a look at them books,
thought I
and so I did, and that explains
why I haven’t been able to write much
ever since, because
among the rotting books, there I found
a century old translation of Tolstoy’s War and Peace

the great book!

I cleaned it of all the mold and stuff
that lived on it,
and took it with me: my new friend

and I read and I read and I read
the amazing thoughts of that amazing man

::: ::: :::

[Picture: Keereeku on his favorite sofa by reading_is_dangerous] Perhaps the name of the dog was Kureeko or some other variation on k-r-k-; I don't remember so well, although it's only been a month since I left the North Kivu. There a dog is a rare sight. People told me that the locals eat them or that they just don't like dogs or that they can't feed them. Whatever. Keereeku lived in that house, with the French doctors, and it was impossible to convince him to leave the place. One troubled day, the doctors left the town, and when they came back a month later the dog was still there, albeit half-dead, because of hunger. They say he's crazy and doesn't want to play, but I've seen otherwise, and he's really a good creature. His favorite sofa is located right across the room, facing that corner where I found Tolstoy's extraordinary writings.