Centre of the World

There’s an image of peaceful solitaire

Thinking back on the countryside air

The fields and my childhood lair

I remember a great fig tree — its still there

Standing many a feet up in the air

In a land no owner known nor heir

Everyone admits they were born and found it there

The vast expanse of land around it bare

And grass of gold, green and fair.

scientists claim the centre of the world I know not where

But I have always thought it to be there

Under that old large dark green stare

Cut it down and the world deflates all its air

Like an unknotted balloon at a county fair

Chainsaw-wielding fiends don’t dare!

A gray Morning and a String Quartet

There is a tidium so great

that has come with this gray weather – –

almost taking the properties of physical weight.

A flu has arrested my wheezing breath

and my teeth chilled from mouth breathing.

I curse the morning

and cross myself with immediate penance.

But until I press play on my record player

does this tedium lift off its weight a while

and Dvorak welcomes me to this new world

This music!

This music heals me!

Zindzile XII

We sat at a roof restaurant in perfect silence

enjoying the view, the company

and the inexpensive juice

You remember?

How could you not.

You came over to my side

and we took pictures cheek to cheek

smiling ear to ear.

.

I printed the picture and stuck it on my wall

Tonight sitting on my hard-knock floor

listening to down and out blues

I stare up at the picture

Your hair short

Your glasses on.

A mosquito has landed just right in the middle of your smile

giving the illusion of gapped teeth.

How much you look like my mama from here

My dear Zindzile — my heart is in the Highlands

My heart is not here

My heart is in the Highlands–my love my dear

Zindzile XI

There’s claw marks on my left arm

thin stripes of scar

that was left on me by my beloved

on the last morning of our parting.

I bear this mark with pride and nostalgia

The only visible mark left on me by love

For you can’t see all the kisses on my lips

Or how my heart has since grown twice its size

.

My scar has been disappearing- my woe

Where was it ever heard

of one mourning the healing of a scar

My dear Zindzile – here on my left arm

it’s like seeing you walk away all over again

Bookmark

Years ago I learnt from a fellow reader

Who did tell of how sacrilegious an act it was

To fold the tips of a book leaf to track pages

So this day I was reading outdoor without my bookmark

I plucked a young hibiscus and with it marked my last page.

.

With nothing else to read today

I picked up the same book again after so long

The flower was dried up where I last left it

It was like a meeting of ex lovers

in their hometown where nothing has changed

And each corner street is achingly depressing

Both burnt out and spit back home by the big city lights.