Tall, old trees,
Surrounded her,
Making her feel small,
Birds rustling the branches overhead,
Squirrels and chipmunks,
Ran along the ground,
The smell of fresh pine,
Flowed through the air,
As a breeze blew through,
She felt so content,
Never feeling this close to nature before,
Rejuvenating yourself,
The most natural way ever.
The day I found out,
That I was pregnant,
I was absolutely terrified,
What if I was not a good mother?
This thought went through my head a lot,
Self-doubt,
I lived through nine months of doubts,
Then she was born,
The moment I saw her,
I was in love,
I vowed to her to be the best mother ever,
As I looked down at her tiny face,
My doubts washed away,
She gave me the courage to do this,
I have loved her from the moment we met,
Unconditionally,
I knew in my heart,
I could do this.
Suddenly
This morning
It came
Rushing
To me;
I remember
Everything,
I remember
The dead body,
I remember even
The sound of
His voice,
As he wept
Into the night.
I remember!
That winter night
Someone shook our locked gates,
It Wasn’t the usual
Sound of guns
that often thundered
into the night,
it was a man,
whose cries woke
even the sleep-loving toddler.
“There’s a man shouting!
There’s a man crying!”
“Be quiet”
they said,
“Be still”
they chided,
“These are dangerous times”
I heard them say.
Thugs too are fond
Of the concealing character
of a cold and hostile night,
the story of a township night,
And the violence of
Our times carried
One huge lesson;
You hear some
Gunshots
Turn off your Lights
Sit still
Deadly still.
That frightful night
His cries were harrowing,
All night long,
He cried for help,
All freezing night,
We wouldn’t open
Our doors,
We in our beds
were frozen
By our own fear.
He wept,
He shouted
Until the pitch
of his voice
Lost its steady sound,
As each minute past,
His voice became
Lower,
and lower,
and lower,
until…
silence
That winter morning
His young naked body
On Jabulani Lane
Lay dead.
It was not that he had fallen
Into the hands of robbers,
Who took everything from him,
Leaving him naked,
It was the elements of winter,
That invaded his warmth,
And as his cries lowered,
his heat lowered,
Until the cold silence of death,
Took the heat of his life away.
Guilt visited my people that morning,
When their eyes fell
Upon the now silent night-screamer.
Omission was their sin;
what they failed to do
was to open their doors.
The real cold night
is when humanity
behaves against
its very own condition;
when it has to silence
from within itself
the cries of the other
that calls to it for help.
I know not the moment
When fear entered humanity;
That even reaching out
Has become a sacrifice.
His own returned reverently
On the day
of his interment,
With his body
now robed with dignity,
To the place
where their own
Breathed last,
I heard them say
to his soul;
“Come with us.
Come home.
Come to those who even
In death’s dark night
Would heed your cries.”
They called him by name.
At last he found a door
That wasn’t afraid to open.
I heard you die that night,
That cold dark night.
I saw you dead that morning,
That frosty frightful morning.
And although a child I was,
I knew with certainty,
That humanity
was never created to fear,
Nor be complacent
At the sound of suffering.
© Lawrence Mduduzi Ndlovu, Johannesburg South Africa
For More About the Lewiston Writers’ Group, CLICK HERE
Love is the way he looks at you,
With admiration,
And respect,
It is your heart fluttering,
Skipping a beat at his touch,
You have electricity flowing when you kiss,
Love is when you are sick,
He takes care of you,
Then you do the same for him,
He gently tucks you into bed at night,
Even though he is not going to bed yet,
Love is all the small things,
That is how you know it is love.
Pitch black night,
Sitting in a field,
Surrounded,
All around,
Fireflies dance and glow,
Making their brilliant luminescence,
Fun to guess where they will appear,
Little flashlights,
Simple pleasures,
Watching nature,
Deep at night,
Seeing nature’s creatures light up the night,
Another natural wonder,
Catching one,
Gently,
Glowing in my hand,
Tickling my palm,
Let it fly away,
Little flashing creature,
Gone to light up the night sky,
What a marvelous night,
Spent with fireflies.
Each person has something different that makes them happy,
It can be watching the sunrise with your morning coffee,
A wag of a dog’s tail when you come home,
Something simple,
Making a garden,
For a Mother,
It is seeing her newborn child for the first time,
For others music may be what makes them happy,
The songs speaking to them and having special memories,
Each person’s happiness is unique,
Especially how it makes them feel,
Their own,
With their reasons,
Happiness is an individual perspective.
Happiest in my dreams,
Where we are together,
Nothing holding us back.
I see you,
My heart races and I feel light-headed,
All my emotions rush through me all at once,
Strongest feeling being love,
Bravery does not exist for me,
The thought of talking to you panics and terrifies me,
Insecurity takes over,
I watch from a distance,
Your smile makes me happy,
Laughter a melody to my ears,
Love flows through me when I see you,
To embarrassed to say anything,
Intimidated,
Hoping, wishing you would say something to me,
You do not seem to notice me.
There was a very loud crash,
That nobody else heard,
Broken inside,
Nothing could change that,
Why do I have to suffer?
He created my broken self,
On the fears of the people I trusted most,
In the end,
I got away,
Battered and bruised,
But alive,
I feel that nothing is safe,
Nothing at all,
Fearing I will never feel safe again,
I withdraw,
Into myself,
Isolating myself so I cannot get hurt again,
Praying that one day I will trust again.
For More About the Lewiston Writers’ Group, CLICK HEREYou were there when we took our first steps,
And went unsteadily across the floor,
You pushed and prodded: encouraged and guided,
Until our steps took us out the door,
You worry now, “Are they ok?”
Is there more you could have done?
As we walk the paths of our unknown,
You wonder, “Where have my children gone?”
Where we are is where you have led us,
With your special love you showed us a way,
To believe in ourselves and the decisions we make,
Taking on the challenge of life day-to-day,
And where we go you can be sure,
In spirit you shall never be alone,
For where you are is what matters most to us,
Because to us that will always be home.
For More From Lola Hornof, CLICK HEREFor More About the Lewiston Writers’ Group, CLICK HERE