Sebhat is not dead…..
He just pulled ‘A Fitawrari Endeshaw’ on us
In the snowy evening of this Tuesday
I found him in these pages of ሌቱም አይነጋልኝ

Page 1
ውብ ወጣትነቴ ሄደች
እየተንሳፈፈች
ያመጣት የጊዜ ወንዝ ወሰዳት

and Page 5
መንገድ ላይ ማን ማንን አገኘሽ?
የወጣትነቴን ጥላዋን አየሽ?
ጭምጭምታዋን ሰማሽ?
………….
አንቺ ወጣት የነብር ጣት
በዚያ በማለዳ በዚያ በጠዋት
ልጅነቴን አንዴም አላየሻት?
መንገድ ዳር ስትጫወት?
in there
He is still Dancing the cha cha
Smoking a ቅጠለ ወርቅ. . . Under a tree shade in ዶሮ ማነቂያ
A light dinner @ ሰራተኛ ሰፈር
A sweet booze @ a nameless spot
and a bottle of macchiato@ Trianon
Talking to ማሚት እሹሩሩ
Discussing death and dying with ኮምቡጠር
Sitting outside at a café admiring the common man,
The pretty and the ugly
The rising and sinking sun
Your mountains and our loins
Measuring the depth/and notoriety of the city
A metaphor to the flesh and soul of us all . . .

Sebhat was the only writer of his cohort who tried to unfetter the Ethiopian body from the shackles of ‘shame’, and hypocritical moralizers.

He has gone through the whips of literary Balambarases, pseudo puritans, (who on the way talked hard to construe him into a one-aspect writer) laughing his glorious beard off. . . .

Sebhat was a form, who by media hullabaloo became content……more than the books, He became the issue………

That, ladies and gentlemen, is the power of misconstruction….
but, he was more………
He is still here….
He is in these pages, in ሌቱም አይነጋልኝ ……
About life,
Life is a game that must be played fair
About estrangement, alienation:
Pages 184,185,186……….
about the perennial Ethiopian sun:
pages 154
a strangely ‘globalized’ wubee sefer:
page 156: guitar boogie,
(Arthur smith and his cracker jacks 1948 USA)
blue Danube,
(Johann Strauss ii, 1886, Austria)
la comparsita/cumparsita
(A tango from Uruguay by Geraldo matos 1917/Carlos Molina 1931 Gardelperu/Julio Sosa/ etc….)
In some ways he also left us a query:
Can you write with a boldness, Calling a horse a horse
A sucker a sucker?
Just that?

He called things by their name, and, many a philosopher has said the same things with jargons….that Eros is seminal in the arts……No passion, no art….
And he still lives in those pages……

AR: 2012