Monday, 30 March 2015


Last evening I went on pilgrimage
To Moholt cemetery

I planted a flower on your name
Hoping your memory
Waters and petals it into
The beauty you denied our world
At sunbirth

And I recalled
How, one day,
You emitted hope from your smiles
Singing away all doubts and all pains
And your voice became the libation
In a gourd of sacrifice

The rhythm of your waist beads
That provoked warriors into battle dances
And the mountain you carry behind you
That teased away the celibate priest on the other street
Are all now but eaten by termites

I shall come this way again
With you firmly rooted
In the backyard of my memory

1 comment:

  1. Powerfully written. Evocative.