Ganesh looks in the eyes of a Sepik spirit, While Tibetan mantras float over them in a vase.
Metamorphosis, to escape the grip, Transformations to avoid the killing of oneself.
Glass bead game. Aliens glide along the hull, Eyes meet the white light, Blinded, Can I see seas.
The grave of the sultans of Johor speaks of glories, The Koran open, a minute of meditation, On a flying carpet traveling time.
The spices of Chinese roasted duck, the green of boiled vegetable, Greener than green, Indian transvestite blinks for a tease, Open to the hustlers and families alike, The streets sing her busy songs of loud voices, Car and motorcycles, While a street seller offers the aphrodisiac spread from around the world. Viagra from the US, or china if you like, Massage oils and powders, herbs and ointments, While the pimps canvass the street.
The hair dressing salons sprouts like soja beans, Some to do your hair, Other to sell you back your sexual desire.
Informations, bites, waves, a take over with pirated cds, Computer programs, All in dimmed light alleys, Latest hip hop shirt, Imititation nike and reebok, Always with the beat, Trying to create a scene, Never succeeding, The scenes can only start with the roots, Or the new.
Interzone, Memes and scenes straight out of Japan, Where techno avantguarde shapes the minds of a new generation.
Lures, bright, flashing, In your face, True colors hide behind the grid, The hues of an afternoon sky, The flame of a burning candle. Work of attention, To navigate between the traps.
The roots reveal themselves in architectural designs, Kampung bringing a possible setting for a scene, But where have the minds gone?
Temples of lonely souls, Singing their sorrows, Drowned in a void of no meaning, A love for sale that can can’t be sold, And the gods are watching, Waiting.
Sensations for sale, The race is on, Catch me if you can.
Tuna has disappeared from the sushi bars, All exported to the highest bidder, Japan, US… Meanwhile the magazines runs articles on the death of the ocean, And no one cares.
Shiva peeks a mirror eye, While I am Offered food for the gods, Textures, spices, colors of synestesia, My feet resonate the temple, Under the spell of a magic musician.
Mbabanga, Solomon islands 2005
Put those unwanted words to the tips of your wings, Rise high in the skies, Let those words dribble into the wind. Freedom of a clear mind, The seeds now get planted, The spirit of dance grows wild and wide, Universal travels, Look what we have done.
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