Railroad With puppies and pigs We, mortals, swing, rocking the remaining sleep of the morning. It is almost dawn at the train line’s plantations. High Seas Slave and master are part of the same history: of property, of treasury, of ideology, of plantations, of hunting and trafficking, of social classes, of the king, of civilians and their freedom, of the useful deal, of the maroons and of the empire, of the couscous hair, the bad hair, the hard hair, of the tight hair, the black hair, the voodoo hair, the afro hair on the slave ship, guineamen, two hundred motionless slaves per journey, horizontally captives, with no souls, poor souls, defeated souls, just corpses on the sea. Stranded Swamp Far away from home the outsider ask himself, after countless nautical miles and a journey of jungle walk, if he is free now, if he is still called a son in his, now bitter, hometown, if his people still remember his shattered face, if his mother is still there. Far away from home the maze is green. The forest breathes by itself like a swallowing beast’s roar and he wonders if the roads drink sweat or blood when at night, the kicking of the prey scares off the dream of an ever-elusive border. Crossing borders Survivor is called the one who traverses hell. A burned paradise is a home on fire. In the wiped-off-the-map-villages their ghosts belong nowhere. 67 BLACK RENAISSANCE NOIRE Offshore, the seawater brings bad luck to immigrants with no rescue. International waters, no man’s land when the country is killed by the sea and the hopelessness within.