Farewell to the Tango

Questions I didn't address to myself before 
collide with the music of the night
and lead me to distrust the moon
promenading in the sky  
       every time I dance the tango,
its oyster-white glare intoxicates and blurs my senses,
closes in with a velvet over- perfumed touch
and makes me forget I should be watching
my steps,
the world being the place it is.

The world doesn't disown me though
and God continues to watch in silence
my forgetfulness. Somewhere in the genes
the code must exist
       surely I am not born helpless.
I don’t want to be a citizen of a Rwanda world 
where we duck, sleepwalk through life,
the filthy hands denying the Holocaust
at the throat of memory.

In the Bronze Age I lived till the age of forty,
in 1900 till the age of forty five, in this century
were I to last till eighty how will I survive
the bite of the Thought-serpent
        you know the dubiousness of his Iago mind,
insisting that suicide bombers, poisonous gas,
nuclear and biological weapons, will bring about
my salvation. 

I thought truth was to nurse the animal body
to health by spooning words of love
into the dark corners of the mind 
       that to dance the tango was part
of joyously praising life, saying Thank You,
showing off the body's cherished intent
of a kissed mouth and hot-house orchids
in the blood   the unsheathing of the amaryllis 

the shining language of the heart's awareness
that from day one in Eden it could have been
a different story, 
the one that love intended,
instead of smoking chimneys.

Laser eyes reveal the Thought-serpent laughing:
Best intentions in a world of unrevised habits
 count for nothing.

This means, doesn’t it, I have to plug my ears
not to hear the solicitations of the moon    
       yes, I’ll give up dancing the tango,
this way I’ll break the complacency of my habits
this way I’ll outsmart the enemy without distraction  
this way I’ll bring some solace for the dead.