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| Image - http://zimsiffs.blogspot.com/ |
We were two, mother
and I
Deep in the bush
behind old Pumula township
Mother wielding a
sickle
And I a catapult
Eyes searching for anything that moved
For I was the guard
Seven years old
The grass was as
tall as gum trees
Yellow as gold
A world of weaver
birds
And insects with
long knees
As mother cut and
cut the grass
Tied it into two
bundles
One big one small
And we would emerge
from the bush
With them on our
heads
And I walking
behind mother
The bundles slowly
accumulated
At the back of our
home
And we would watch
them slowly dry
As the seasons went
by
Sometimes playing
hide and seek amongst them
Or leaping into
their bosoms
As if they were our
parents
And we would open
the buttons of their blouses
And suckle to sleep
Then months later
A lorry would
arrive
And our grass
friends
Would be on their
way
To gogo and khulu in the rural areas
Where they would be
reborn again
As thatch on roofs
of huts
Providing shelter
and beauty to the rural landscapes.
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