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.

 

 

 

 

Little Children

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What is happening to this world?

Brother against brother we stand.

 

I see a playground

and on it, little children:

brothers and sisters

fighting over a Father’s love.

One Father, many children, one family.

 

I see a playground

and on it, little children:

the bullies and the victims,

fighting over their differences.

Some invited in, others cast out.

 

I see a playground.

On it, just little children:

the popular and the unpopular,

fighting over the right

to be on this playground.

 

Who decided this?

Why?

When?

 

The playground didn’t change much,

nor the rules of the game.

Neither did we.

We are the children of yesterday.

 

I see you, men and women:

Yesterday’s children,

fighting over land that is not yours.

Deciding fates, directing lives

you do not own.

 

Creation –

Humans, animals, plants, water, land.

You are stewards of these, not owners.

Never forget.

 

Beware little children,

for time is a fragile thing,

like wings of a butterfly on the wind.

Do not stray, little children,

for time is a sharp-edged sword.

 

So, play nicely, little children.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Surface

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On the surface beyond which no one looks –

a calm ocean,

a mirrored plane,

life continual.

 

The surface of my skin

may crack under melancholy and strain,

but perhaps even that

passes unseen.

 

The surface of my heart

in darkness waits –

untouched, yet guarded,

for love’s tender touch.

 

For only your touch –

key turned in lock,

at destiny’s feet

will move the surface of my soul.

 

 

 

Darkness

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In darkness we move.

We pass one another in the night.

The pendulum slowly swings,

The clock slowly ticks,

The sword slowly lifts, readying its strike.

Slowly it moves – a restless predator,

Stalking you, distorted creatures of darkness.

 

The ship will slowly turn from its course.

When the pendulum returns,

When the clock stops,

When the blade falls –

On which side will you be, creature of darkness?

When the destination is changed and the final course plotted,

Will you be present?

 

In this, the soul’s darkest hour,

You will not see it coming,

But come, it will.

In the darkness, time waits.

 

When is the darkest hour of the soul?

If the soul is our will, wants and emotions, our humanity –

Is it when we’ve lost our humanity? Is it when we stop caring? When we carelessly begin to rip each other to shreds? Is it when we sell our soul?

When have we sold our soul?

Is it when we let go of our own free will – our will to live, to resist injustice, to do what is right?

Is it when we relinquish our wants – On the one hand, did we become so saturated, so over-fed on the good life, the easy life, that we “want for nothing”? Or, perhaps on the other hand, some of us have suffered want in some shape or form for such an extended period of time, that we now believe ourselves unworthy of the right to want anything – care, love, even respect?

When have our emotions and our humanity been sacrificed?

Is it when we’ve become so stunted that we cease to feel, to have empathy? Or, is it perhaps when we’ve let our emotions run so freely that we cannot make any room for someone else to exist? In the end we’re left only with the ego.

Perhaps it is all of these. When our humanity and empathy dies, and hope is lost, what are we but distorted creatures of darkness? We can only move away from the darkness when we turn our gaze, hearts and hands to the lost, hurting and rejected. These are the thoughts that increasingly plague me. Like a ship, headed for a destination, I find myself slowly turning. Change can be slow. It is frustrating when one still sits in life’s classroom, being prepared for an unknown purpose. You want to get out there! I only know I cannot sit by and do nothing.

I look around me and I see that our darkest hour is now.