Gedicht
Kayo Chingonyi
Offering[s]
Offering[s]
Offering[s]
Our penance is measuredin mornings made to wait;
furrowed brows bathed in
relief bleeding from pores.
In this dance of coloured light
and pitch, lit wicks, set back
in sweat-flecked faces, flicker
with pleasure and pain, near-buckled
knees carry us to the crest of each
sonic wave this tune is sick someone
and everyone says, breath held before
the bass drops like a cliff-top-melancholic
resigned to rocks. We deify beats now,
bent in penitence, arms outstretched
in this holy of holies, where all is a rush
to find space to make our offering[s].
© 2011, Kayo Chingonyi
Published with kind permission of the author.
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Offering[s]
Our penance is measuredin mornings made to wait;
furrowed brows bathed in
relief bleeding from pores.
In this dance of coloured light
and pitch, lit wicks, set back
in sweat-flecked faces, flicker
with pleasure and pain, near-buckled
knees carry us to the crest of each
sonic wave this tune is sick someone
and everyone says, breath held before
the bass drops like a cliff-top-melancholic
resigned to rocks. We deify beats now,
bent in penitence, arms outstretched
in this holy of holies, where all is a rush
to find space to make our offering[s].
Offering[s]
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