Where Ii Kabbo Was Born

bitterpits
is where I come from

there I was born
to feel the salt
of my mother’s sweat
drip into the honeyed milk
she offered me
and the taste of my father’s sweat
while he hunted the good things that
make us grow

bitterpits

deep in mud
where blood is shed
I pine for the moon to return
having only the sun is too much to bear
too much day without the tides
that ravel and
unravel

I wait for the moon
to turn back for me
that I may return to my place
that I may listen
to all the people’s stories
when I visit them

 

Along The Promenade

On the promenade by the ocean
under a blue/black sky and a splotched moon
young people pass:

vigorous, breathing bodies
stretching beside the white-foamed beach
while rescue workers help an Israeli girl
blown up on a bus in Jerusalem
and Palestinians try to save a baby
after an Israeli helicopter strike in Gaza
and a 19 year old Kwa Mashu gang leader
wanted in connection with four murders
four attempted murders and dozens of hijackings
is arrested when detectives storm his hideout
and public outrage demands life imprisonment
for a man who indecently assaulted a year old baby
and two young girls in December last year

on the promenade by the ocean
beggars approach a man who is composing himself
this man asks the waitress for change
she gives him her hand
a busking musician strums and sings
young joggers offer their money:
“All I’ve ever had were songs of freedom”

 

Sometimes The Veil

Sometimes the veil fades slowly
Sometimes the veil slips
Sometimes the veil is ripped
in one motion

*

a wave forms
swells
reaches its high point

then breaking,
   is followed by a lull
-a windy or calm surface,

 rocking
the new tide rises and
another wave forms

*

young man catches a fish
a small fish
he laughs excitedly
throws it back into the ocean
(it is too small to eat)
or tosses it into a can
to be used as bait
(he still dreams of a big fish)

*

Sometimes the veil yields to another veil
Sometimes the veil decides to unveil
Sometimes we cannot believe that the veil
Is a veil

Sometimes the veil is so beautiful
we insist on it

 

Isabella, Dead

We came in the rain
to your mother’s house
we found you on your back
in a small coffin
behind a thin curtain

three old women on a mattress
wrapped in black cloth and towels
men in the yard skinning a cow
entrails piled in a heap
like your poems stacked
in books or on the stages
where you rode Coltrane’s sunship
tight jeaned botsotsos climbing aboard
to join the refrain

the cow peers through the window
we drink tea, eat biscuits
the body of your work
jiving in our memories

before death came
your friend tells us your tongue swelled
you couldn’t eat
couldn’t give voice
even for Nonhlanhla who was attacked
breaking your heart with her split pearls

now in praise   
we sing to you
to the taxi topsy turvey
you caught on the corner of kerk and nugget
to the three old women
on the mattress

we drink tea in the rain
survivors
of the land of plenty

 

Basking On Top

3 chameleons on the peak
green heads and grey tails
bodies rising and falling
hydraulic levers
on top of the mountain
escapees from gardens

crows glide over the slopes and swoop
starlings nest
pigeons flutter over zigzagging flies 

3 chameleons basking on the peak with sticky tongues
zap the sun
no wind disturbs the cloudless sky
ocean puckers with waves
rocks break from the seabed
become islands where water foams
and helicopters chop spray
rotating soundlessly

3 chameleons
green heads   mossy craniums
 silvery torsos

crows rocket dassies
-tongues and talons
limitless sky swallows earth’s eye

 

To The Memory Of The 24 Cosatu Members Of Parliament
Who Perished In The Struggle Against Temptation And Greed

20 good men and women
tried and tested
forged in fire
standard bearers of the people’s needs
and dreams
veterans of dispute and strike
mobilisers/organisers/negotiators
with
simple tastes – fish ‘n chips, bread ‘n coke
simple dress – jeans, t-shirts, ragged jackets
simple offices – hard chairs, small desks, posters on the wall
simple cars – dented jalopies
              complex minds put to the service of the Common Good
whose uncommon powers
analytical critical
made a difference
working from dawn till dusk
in the cut and thrust
  pansi poverty
  pansi inequality
  pansi racism
  pansi sexism
then the workers special congresss
grants a mandate:
leave us, go into the people’s parliament
join hands with the comrades who fought beyond the borders
and on those soft seats
put your hardened hands
and speak out the resolutions we take
the demands we make
of others and ourselves

ah, twenty good men and women

how hungry you were
how hungry we still are