If imperial cities are burdened by the pride
In their nostalgic past,
Casa enjoys its daily bodiness,
Where the sacred is constantly echoed by profanity.
A melting pot, or rather
A mosaic of peoples,
But still the largest countryside in the land.
A Columbus / Ibn Battouta spirit drives its youth
To set their hearts on the remotest points of the globe,
To the unknown
To inscribe heroic tales.
Its shocking vulgarity is a reminder of
Or rather its plagiarism, a hybrid process without a shape, yet.
Hooligans, pleasure in the bus, speech in contest, the soul of cash
Suggest a ruthless context of loss of whiteness,
Casa la blanche,
Dar Al Baida, the faithless.
Seduced by some mysterious magic,
Its inhabitants prefer polluted anonymity
To the temptation of death in life
In the suffocating domesticity of a suburban site
Or in a provincial town of lesser fame.
Last modified: 31 May 2001