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

img_1994

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.

 

img_1993

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.

 

 

 

 

Orderly

imageOrderly

The piece of paper lies on the table, waiting.

I reach for it with ink and graphite

The paper in my hands

My life, the paper.

 

It just lies there in front of me – blank, empty, untouched.

Orderly.

But, for it to remain orderly, it must stay untouched.

So, that which makes it orderly also renders it useless.

 

I sit there, waiting.

It’s waiting. For me to make my move.

Circling each other like predators

A game of cards. A chess match.

 

Dare I disturb it? Wake it from its slumber?

An untamed, mysterious, beautiful beast.

Dare I let it lie in captivity

only to have its powers spent, its potential wasting away?

 

The only way to unleash it, is through chaos

Order must be sacrificed.

I must reach for the ink and the graphite

to pierce the veil.

 

The tip touches the surface – scratching, marking

It feels my pen.

It must be done.

And from my chaos may spring forth

Order.