Poetry International Poetry International
Poem

Mbuyiseni Oswald Mtshali

ALWAYS A SUSPECT

I get up in the morning
and dress up like a gentleman –
A white shirt, a tie and a suit.

I walk into the street
to be met by a man
who tells me “to produce.”

I show him
the document of my existence
to be scrutinised and given the nod.

Then I enter the foyer of the building
to have my way barred by a commissionaire
“What do you want?”

I trudge the city pavements
side by side with “madam”
who shifts her handbag
from my side to the other,
and looks at me with eyes that say
“Ha! Ha! I know who you are;
beneath those fine clothes
ticks the heart of a thief.”

UMSOLWA NJALO

UMSOLWA NJALO

Ngivuka ekuseni
ngigqoke njengenene –
Ihembe elimhlophe, uthayi, nensudi.

Ngihamba esitaladini
Bese ngihlangabezwa indoda
engitshela ukuthi “khiqiza.”

Ngiyikhombisa
Ubhukwana wempilo yami
Ukuthi ucwaningwe bese inginika ukuqekuza.

Besengingena emnyango omkhulu webhilidi
ngithole indlela ivalwe ngunogada
“Ufunani?”

Ngiphaquza imisinga yedolobhakazi
uhlangothi nohlangothi no “misisi”
ogudluzela isikhwama sakhe ngakolunye,
angibheke ngamehlo athi
“We! Klibhi! Ngiyakwazi ukuthi ungubani;
ngaphansi kwalezosingubo zikanokusho
kuncencetha inhliziyo yesela.”
Close

ALWAYS A SUSPECT

I get up in the morning
and dress up like a gentleman –
A white shirt, a tie and a suit.

I walk into the street
to be met by a man
who tells me “to produce.”

I show him
the document of my existence
to be scrutinised and given the nod.

Then I enter the foyer of the building
to have my way barred by a commissionaire
“What do you want?”

I trudge the city pavements
side by side with “madam”
who shifts her handbag
from my side to the other,
and looks at me with eyes that say
“Ha! Ha! I know who you are;
beneath those fine clothes
ticks the heart of a thief.”

ALWAYS A SUSPECT

I get up in the morning
and dress up like a gentleman –
A white shirt, a tie and a suit.

I walk into the street
to be met by a man
who tells me “to produce.”

I show him
the document of my existence
to be scrutinised and given the nod.

Then I enter the foyer of the building
to have my way barred by a commissionaire
“What do you want?”

I trudge the city pavements
side by side with “madam”
who shifts her handbag
from my side to the other,
and looks at me with eyes that say
“Ha! Ha! I know who you are;
beneath those fine clothes
ticks the heart of a thief.”
Sponsors
Gemeente Rotterdam
Nederlands Letterenfonds
Stichting Van Beuningen Peterich-fonds
Prins Bernhard cultuurfonds
Lira fonds
Versopolis
J.E. Jurriaanse
Gefinancierd door de Europese Unie
Elise Mathilde Fonds
Stichting Verzameling van Wijngaarden-Boot
Veerhuis
VDM
Partners
LantarenVenster – Verhalenhuis Belvédère