THIS POEM IS ABOUT SLAVERY RESURRECTED IN: Tripoli, Libya (CNN, 2017) — « Eight hundred, » says the auctioneer. « 900 … 1,000 … 1,100 … » Sold. For 1,200 Libyan dinars — the equivalent of $800. Not a used car, a piece of land, or an item of furniture. Not « merchandise » at all, but two human beings. One of the unidentified men being sold in the grainy cell phone video obtained by CNN is Nigerian. He appears to be in his twenties and is wearing a pale shirt and sweatpants. He has been offered up for sale as one of a group of « big strong boys for farm work, » according to the auctioneer, who remains off camera. Only his hand — resting proprietorially on the man’s shoulder — is visible in the brief clip — available at http://edition.cnn.com/2017/11/14/africa/libya-migrant-auctions/index.html.
Auteur : Gilles Fabien Dogbo
THE LOVING GEAR is a beautiful metaphor for THE HEART, this tiny part, or I’d rather say, « this tiny mart » of the greater mechanism called the soul, which we all think is answerable for all the love in us, and for all the melancholies and miseries that it brings forth.
THE LOVING GEAR is a poem that voices my deepest fear! Once upon a time, I used to fear “not being worthy of finding love in this lifetime”, and if I were still at that station of my life, I would have written a poem about that… But today, this poem right here, that voices my deepest fear, has to be sincere.
And as such, THE LOVING GEAR is a poem that I have tasked with the honorable duty to voice my anticipatory fear of “reaching someday a station in life where I will no longer be able to love, at least, not as intensely and as merrily as I usually did”.
It is here the earnest anguish of a man staring at its own tailor-made limbo, knowing that the day cometh when leaping into it might be the only way to move forward, and hopefully, the only way to reach at the end of this poetic adventure called life, a sort of rightly-earned Olympus.
Poème identitaire, poème déclaratif, poème qui réaffirme pour un monde oublieux ma fierté d’appartenir à une culture, avant d’appartenir à une race ! Poème qui retranscrit le besoin de présenter mes origines, mes racines, ma genèse, et l’homme au sang noir derrière le masque incolore de poète que je brandis.