We walked towards the lit corridor
in the streets alley.
The bricks are bare; leaves nestled in their crevices,
collected by a cold wind roaming
our salvaged remains.
It blew the door ajar;
the beat of an African drum
filled the hollow air and spoke to us.
“Come hither! Come hither!”
- It was a lovely day.
Two black boys were waiting.
Their eyes were a crimson red,
strokes of colored paint adorned their chests.
The boy’s drum- a concave dome.
But I am now but bleak for reasons
I cannot explain; we were defeated.
Eastern Cape Cycad trees danced strangely
in the heat of a hot sun.
And in the middle of the parade
the relic of a Roman Cathedral bleed mercilessly.
No comments:
Post a Comment