Missing for the Black Bro
There was a great man in Vineyard Street. People called him as “dark man”. In a cloudy. day, I met with him. He was holding Steinbeck’s Cannery Row. He had already feverishly been debating. over a specific work of art with students, art lovers, moviegoers and aficionados of reading in a local book cafe, Malcolm X. He was always smiling, kind but powerful and thoughtful. I admired him very much and. really wondered where he was getting his whole energy and patience or ideal. He was not like a contradictious preacher, talkative intellectual or secluded philosopher, but a friend of children, opportunist politicians and beggars. Furthermore, he didn’t prefer to live in seclusion, opening to every changes for the sake of philo-sophia. Dark man was the very maverick.
He always took us unimaginable dreams, conquered some lands and revolted against unfair worlds. As children, we were proud of standing by him and his horse. There was no violence, since we believe in books and followed them. While any confrontation with him, I just stood firmly ,yet, I couldn’t help crying like a girl.
He passed away. I lost my wings and couldn’t fly like a eagle under his shadow.