I wrote words that needed to come out for my inner healing journey – Poems
So many times I have told myself
Life has to go on anyway.
For there is so much I want to do.
I have told myself, life is short and has to be lived.
Feeling homesick is not important anyway.
So I have convinced myself.
I have detached myself, sometimes successfully
From the feeling that somewhere, something
Very important in my life is missing.
The family I left behind.
You see, I used to cry a lot.
Nowadays I tell myself
I am tough, strong and life has to go on.
But I have images
Of my twelve and nine year old brothers.
They were that age — those twenty years ago.
They are old men today.
But somehow, the images, are those
Of nine and twelve year olds.
As for my mother,
Twenty years ago she was 43.
Today she is 63.
But images still, are those
Of a beautiful 43 year old.
I tell myself, I’m tough and strong.
I must carry on regardless.
But suddenly, it hits me.
I can’t hold my tears any longer
I let them flow down my cheeks
When I am on my own — no one about.
Yes, I am homesick.
When the year is bad
No rain to keep us cool
Only worries over what next
The soil is hard to till
No hope for survival, drought is here.
A child cries on its mother’s back
Wrapped in dirty linen
Days have passed, no water for washing
Let alone for drinking.
No one cares about being clean at this moment.
The priority is water for drinking.
The village is barren; death hangs in the air.
Children cannot understand
Why there is no food.
They cry because they are hungry.
Mothers cry because the children are crying.
Fathers weep because they feel helpless.
People pray for rain.
When prayers have been exhausted,
When hopes have been thwarted by forces unknown,
When no strength is left ,
People die a slow death.
There’s something nasty about drought
There’s something horrendous about the devil.
It is an agonising slow killer
Everyone in the village is a walking skeleton.
Mouths are dry, bodies thin,
Even those with very little strength try to go on.
Looking for grounds to dig
In search of water to quench the killing thirst.
The atmosphere is stale and stifling
Rotting animals in the midst of rotting humans
Prayers on high hills have not been answered.
Only vultures are having a field day.
OVER THE VELD
When sounds of distant drums
Echo in my mind’s ears,
I hear rustling of dry leaves,
Hooves gathering momentum
Birds chirping and every possible
Life in the veld joining in.
It is morning and the wild is alive
Ready and eager for the day has begun.
Yes, in my mind’s eye I see
Colours of lovely orange
On a clear blue
Over the horizon —
But all in my mind’s eyes.
A beautiful sunrise.
Over the veld
The early morning breeze
Whispers to all life.
Roam! Fly! And above all — BE FREE!
Moving like a snake without sign
Of head or tail in sight
Only the body graciously inching
Further towards the Indian Ocean;
Is that glorious enormous river.
Watch on a calm and clear sunny day.
Beauty is there wherever it cuts
Through green fields with patches
Of white birds here and there.
I gaze and feel an urge to reach
Somewhere on the horizon.
If I could ask it to carry me
Where my eyes can’t reach but
Only it can reach.
But when it’s stormy I see how
Deadly my idol can be.
Rushing furiously carrying logs and dead animals,
The colour changed to rust.
Without sign of mercy for everything
On its way is swept along.
But when days are good
My river, lovely river,
You are serene. I still adore you.
POOR OLD MAN
He sat wrapped in his blanket,
Smoking continuously his pipe by his cattle kraal.
He thought of all that he possessed years ago;
When once he was wealthy
Before poverty was forced upon him.
His pipe filled with snuff
From the old stock —
When once he grew the snuff
Good old days were gone.
His future was a plot of shelterless barren earth
In the Bantu Homelands.
When it dawns it will be late
The unforgivable has been done.
The oppressed races are dying
A slow wretched death.
Physically, emotionally, mentally and socially.
South Africa’s white regime’s Apartheid
Is a slow poisoning germ.
It goes into one’s blood and spreads
Slowly and deeply.
Leaving no part untouched.
I don’t care, the way I see it
It kills both sides.
To the privileged, it is a germ.
To the underprivileged, it is a germ.
Dear God, Help before it is too late!