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You could always undress me with your words.
With all this need for reassurance,
I cannot be so sure.
Your new verse stretches and contracts
(neither beside us anymore)
Takes what it wants,
discards what it needs no more.
With all this need for reassurance
I cannot be too sure.
Feet slip while the train clicks.
Takes the plunge.
fallow lands
idle hands –
the farmer entertains
the devil’s work
after questioning
his worth
two words run
incessant
marathons
in his mind:
“bone dry”
the cattle
huddle
herding away
from the
encroaching
drought
the acacia thorns
prick the static air
as the burg wind
lifts their cracking,
boughs forlorn
fire.
is.
imminent.
a long walk
on perforated heels
edges blur, slow-ly…
agony.
thirst.
fields.
stalks of corn, measly mielies,
throw their last
battered brown leaves
upwards
…in the hope of
photosynthesis
scorched earth.
resource policy.
at least wood offers easily
to braai polity
but, that is all…
water-logged
in the search for
blue gold.
In the angry spoken word
Where is my god?
In the pain of disease,
Where is my god?
In the anguish of emotion,
Where is my god?
In the disturbing silence of my life,
A plea goes out…
Under scorching, fiery blaze
Where is my god?
On the lonely plains of
Lost love and lust,
Where is my god?
I am still searching,
Still bearing the cross,
Asking, where is my god?
Things were good
Things were great
What a pity time was late!
Things were borrowed
Things were spent,
Time wasn’t leant.
Things are gone
Things are past
…Time didn’t last…
Cry beloved country,
Weep.
Cry beloved country,
Sigh.
Cleanse the open plains
With gentle tears.
Wash the grime from the kranse
Water the sun-dried tomato fields
And bring them to life again.
Kiss our weary land
With life-giving
And restore breath
To our weary lungs.
Cry beloved country,
Rid your soul of terror.
Expel the reigning torment
And breathe.
Quiet night kisses you
And leaves an embrace
Of black stillness.
Rest, beloved country,
Sweet South Africa,
Strong fortress,
Now clean.
