By Vusumzi Matomane on Wednesday, January 5, 2011 at 11:03pm
Winter's cruel winds thwack
battering these young
and innocent bodies...
Because at home;
embittered soldiers
Rule
with machines whose cries resemble
Grumbling thunder.
So we lean on these tree trunks—
washed here for ages
praying unconfined prayers;
one eye, sealed—
one eye, quarter-opened...
Of late—
fragrant of acrid green shrubs
and damp sands:
are alien perfumes...
battering these young
and innocent bodies...
Because at home;
embittered soldiers
Rule
with machines whose cries resemble
Grumbling thunder.
So we lean on these tree trunks—
washed here for ages
praying unconfined prayers;
one eye, sealed—
one eye, quarter-opened...
Of late—
fragrant of acrid green shrubs
and damp sands:
are alien perfumes...
No longer splendorous scents
of blooming
Buttercups.
Copyright © Vusumzi Matomane 2006
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