Unseen

As I stand in my cage,

constrained by walls of dust,

unseen by the  masses.

I, sentinel unseen.

 

To you, I’m but an eagle on a perch,

scanning the horizon –

No thought unturned,

Nothing unseen.

 

To sit, solitary.

To stand, alone.

As time moves –

a silent tide.

 

I eat music

and spew art.

I drink oblivion

and birth poetry.

 

Long nights drip from my pen,

woven stars from silver thread.

Petals of blood, and love.

A solitary heartbeat.

 

I dance pain,

throwing beauty around.

I wear tears

and millstones, like pearls, around my neck.

 

I breathe the dust

of forgottenness,

an unseen pillar.

Guardian of thought, unseen.

 

I am the unseen.

My trails of art,

a veil slightly pierced.

Meagre witness of my being.

 

Tears are naught.

Only frustration remains.

Marks left on paper,

Still cry my silent tears.

 

 

 

 

Soekie 15-11-2016

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My tears fall,

like soft summer rain,

but it’s the winter of the heart.

 

Once more, I stand on life’s pier.

A lonely figure in the mist,

A pitiful phantom.

 

Now, your time has come –

the journey where I cannot follow.

Already the whisper: “Let me go”

 

Once more, death’s veil will fall.

Of water and mist,

Of silence and sorrow.

 

Today I lost my shadow.

Today my arm was severed.

Today my heart stopped.

 

I grabbed my chest.

I bent over.

In that moment my tears contained all the world’s sorrow.

 

This, life’s vertigo:

No up, no down,

No forward or backward.

 

The way is shut.

 

And so, you pass into memory –

Of dreams and whispers,

of sleep and death.

 

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Jy was die naaste wat iemand soos ek ooit aan ‘n kind kon kom. Dankie vir al jou liefde. Jy was my ou skaduweetjie. Ek sou enigiets gee om jou net nog ‘n klein rukkie te kon vashou.

Jou ogies het deur my ruite gekyk,

Jy het vlindersag my mure afgebreek.

Jou hart het myne – beseerde soldaat – gesteun terwyl dit voort gehunkepink het –

tydelike rus in die lopende herstel.

 

 

 

 

My life’s breath

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Slowly I make my way

across vast plains of stone.

I share the benefit of shelter

in palaces I do not own.

 

Slowly I weave my silver chain –

String-of-pearls for no one’s neck.

Glassy baubles, not to adorn.

Lacy cards within my deck.

 

Beauty is my spider’s craft.

It gives me life’s breath.

Perhaps, not to share therein,

I weave of love and death.