Poetry, Tale Africa

Not alone

By Inet Morudu, South Africa:

A room.

My room.

My little shack to be precise.


It has a window and one door.

Only I, and I alone walk in and out of

The very same door every day.

But yet I am not alone.

I have a double bed.

It is meant  for two.

But me and who?

I am the only one who walks

In and out of that door daily.

But yet I am not alone.

I cry myself to sleep in the dark

When my sun doesn't shine.

And when the Dictator lets her

Hell breaks loose on my territory,

I bury myself deep in my cool fridge.

I am still not alone.

And when thoughts of my lost ones

Creep into my thoughts like

Death crept into my life,

Only the cold floors and corrugated

Iron walls feel my pain.

But yet I say I am not alone.

I am alone to watch me

Walk in and out of my corrugated iron palace.

I feel alone on blue days and sunny days.

But I am not alone.

I am not in denial. I really am not alone.

I have the Holy Spirit in all four corners,

Kept clean by a Hard Worker,

The cleanliness sealed in by Mommy's

Fading scent decorated by sounds of Quietness

Blended with laughter covered in Love's

nurturing warmth.

I have memories. I have you.

I am not alone.

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