Voices of Exile

root - Posted on 01 January 2000

by Staff Writer

From the loneliness of this time

From yesterday, today, tomorrow

From this hour, this minute, this second

From what might have been

From gazing at dreams rotting in the sun

From the need of closure from our illegal ourselves

From time served being refugees but still unwanted

From an echo of ourselves that no longer exist.

This poem is the soft call of one lonely raven

That has lost her loved birth-ones

It is the voice of reason in times of pestilence

It is the voice of the spirit that left luggage

And bundles of bones in Limpopo River

It is the voice of flesh and blood that sustains

Fish and crocodiles in Limpopo

Year in, year out

It is the voice of the badger swallowing in grief

It is the voice of the raccoon chocking in blame.

It maybe is too late for us

To start our own definition

This is not the life we dreamt of

But it is the life we have

For life at this place is called

Everyone’s life is a burden

And the raven has left us to our disastrous methods

No one ever listens to us

So give me all your fears

Let me hold all your sorrows in my heart

This poem is yours

To harvest that which has been lost

To smell the heat still rising in our birth place

We are the way to the way it used to be

Foreigners in a new place, still waiting

Waiting for light, space and time

I know you are a whisper, a word, a song

Thrumming in the heartbeat of your own heart

Laughter shouting red blossoms into the wind

Greeting the sun, the moon, the stars

Resounding like ram’s horns in the synagogues of our souls

Melodies bridging over the abyss of this suffering

Let’s dream together like two wings of the same bird

Being carried away on the shoulder of these notes

Here is my voice that cannot sing to you.


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