Friday, December 25, 2015

El Mundo del Gabo

In Cartagena, walking through el mundo del Gabo--through his pastel memories and dreams.

Pastel green cathedral and Bolivar riding high with pigeons down his stretched arm.

Gabo's old white arched memories.  His lush parks of black deco arcs of lights.

Banyans and bougainvillea. Gabo's Caribbean charm.

A feliz unknown.  Like a rolling stone through Gabo's memories.

The lights come on early;green-gold in the black deco cases.

100 years of solitude in love in the time of cholera.

A bit of an old-new Gabo dream; a Gabo crawl through Cartagena.

Gabo's whitewashed arches; Pablo's pastel arches.  Stone arches and doric columns in a soft pastel.

Gabo's pastel yellows.  Long pastel amarillo walls.

The general in his labyrinth, surrounded by stone sentinels that dot the city gates and white waves of crashing seas.

Gabo's setting sun into the pinkness of the day's fading light, and the hoary moon rising over tangerine pastel colonia houses.  Simultaneously, the sun slowly fades into the pink horizon light while the moon rises high and wide over the darkening night sky.

The longest night of the year has begun.

Ah, but my memories are my own.

Gabo could not speak of how Cartagena as a latin reminder of Zanzibar.  In crooked allies and whitewashed nooks.  In intricate wooden doors, studded with copper bolts.  In doorknockers of brass and bronze--iguanas as Cartagena's variation on Zanzibar's bronzed knocked charm.

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