Dormant,dormant
another evening sky
twists into night,
the Ox-carts have sneak-thieved
into the past,
safe in nostalgia’s land
where their kind rule to last;
another morning comes,
emptied of promise and
noon brings with it
its despair,
new masters in bigger chairs
collectively scratch and ponder;
in the township
children trail toy AK 47s
in the dust,
whilst hollow cheeked young women
lecture on Rousseau and
carry the guardian folded neatly,
as if…
Cape Of Good Hope
Leave a Reply
