A Walk Through Alexandra - Gomora

Images by Paul Zisiwe

At this ripe hour

At this ripe hour, I now speak to cavities in walls, yet

There is peace, not in defeat.

Coaxing earth for sustenance, a brute I toil

Until twilight calmly massacres my foam-less rage.

Dreams denuded and strangled in the calm ridges of memories,

Sense the imminence of betrayal that strolls the room.

The sob of women’s devils and

Troubles that trickle with my sweat and tastes of their tears.

An absent groan ogles turns in the bending light,

Machine bones plastered on billboards scream truces of directions.

Pollen aims scatter about coals of the unattainable...

And what pale dread, bestowed as a promise of respite.

All these parables ordained are but slogans of loss,

Flakes of my skin bonding with dust and age.

Tomorrow, the river breaks its banks and snakes will be loose

The rampage and humdrum slavishly carrying me along.