Gedicht
Robert Berold
THE RETURN
THE RETURN
THE RETURN
the gods returnwe hear them
unpacking on the stairs
the ones who came from
the gate of crocodiles
the ones who caused
the unpredictable weather
the guardians of the doorframe
tuned to the night insects
cracked as the tree of memory
with them a ghost
the tyrant father
forgive me, he explains
I was marooned in thirst
let him die a second time
his death will be a downpour
to extinguish electronic fires
*
the wind returns
the moya of Steve Biko returns
the wind asks
who will care for the people
when our economies have turned into casinos
when our ecologies have turned into zoos?
I asked the iqgira from Cala
Who goes down to the sea each year
To renew his strength from the ocean snake
– the iqgira asked the powerful dead
the powerful dead answered him:
language will be born again from silence
the ceremonies of time will be restored
plants and animals will decide
which human voices speak for them
the ones who will care are here already.
© 1999, Robert Berold
From: Rain across a paper field
Publisher: Gecko Poetry, Durban
moya: spirit, breath
igqira: diviner, traditional healer
From: Rain across a paper field
Publisher: Gecko Poetry, Durban
Gedichten
Gedichten van Robert Berold
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THE RETURN
the gods returnwe hear them
unpacking on the stairs
the ones who came from
the gate of crocodiles
the ones who caused
the unpredictable weather
the guardians of the doorframe
tuned to the night insects
cracked as the tree of memory
with them a ghost
the tyrant father
forgive me, he explains
I was marooned in thirst
let him die a second time
his death will be a downpour
to extinguish electronic fires
*
the wind returns
the moya of Steve Biko returns
the wind asks
who will care for the people
when our economies have turned into casinos
when our ecologies have turned into zoos?
I asked the iqgira from Cala
Who goes down to the sea each year
To renew his strength from the ocean snake
– the iqgira asked the powerful dead
the powerful dead answered him:
language will be born again from silence
the ceremonies of time will be restored
plants and animals will decide
which human voices speak for them
the ones who will care are here already.
From: Rain across a paper field
moya: spirit, breath
igqira: diviner, traditional healer
THE RETURN
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