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In need of me dead and done in,
you nurtured me for years and got me here
to make me yours.
Your scarlet muleta flaps a call,
you in the end lead me home
and that is all.
Let us therefore dance to the finish,
the mood of this sunset in abundance,
for I will have no death in stages.
One blow should make this ours,
thorn thrust into flesh, cheers all around,
A coup de grâce for love, for ages.
Often I have envisioned
hail being torn apart by the flowers
it is falling upon.
© Rethabile Masilo [more…]
Ntate, I had to come back to this because I read this one yesterday. I seem to have more clarity today. There are some intense lines in this piece. I especially like the last in reference to “hail.” You have such a terrific grasp of the language! I suspect that you have a terrific grasp on many languages, though.
My American tounge pales in comparison. Not to worry. Ntshiuwa is teaching me English as well. lol. Fantastic poem.
My wife, Ntshiuwa is the same way. I love to hear/see her express herself on paper or by conversing. It’s always a treat. They taught you all well in Lesotho and the RSA.
Khotso~
Stephen
Comment by Stephen Bess — 24 October 2006 @ 10:52 pm
On top of all that, I’m sure ausi Ntshiuwa can rattle off Zulu and Afrikaans, and perhaps Xhosa as well.
I can link to this poem emotionally (apart from the fact that I wrote it). But as usual, it is in looking at it from a distance and from a time distance, taking my self away from it, that I can feel where it wants to go. So expect the usual changes here and there. I feel the whole story isn’t out, yet.
Comment by Rethabile Masilo — 25 October 2006 @ 9:21 am