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Cebelihle Mbuyisa Poem
He last had a pal in the 7th grade,
They shared a class from the 1st grade.
And together, for Home Economics,
they were always late.
But the seventh grade showed up, in its
claws it held their un-anticipated fate.
For death's heartless might had
snatched away the pal's dear moter,
The lad watched as he packed the
boots that both their feet knew.
Off he went to unknown horizons.
"I will write", is all he said.
And so, at the post office,
the lad became a familiar face.
"He never forgot me", he convinces
his lonely self everyday.
The 12th grade is his current stop.
He recently acquired a harmless infection-hope.
So, while he dejectedly kicks innocent pebbles
in the streets he's quite hopeful that the other lad, his pal,
will write..........or maybe tweet.
Word has it, though, that the pal was
seen somewhere.
He was wearing a black suit...
Word has it also that he couldn't make a conversation.
Instead of his trademark smile,
solemnity had found a home in his face.
There he was, stone dead.
"Maybe, just maybe, he will write",
thinks the nameless lad as he kicks a
couple of innocent pebbles while he threads
on one rugged path towards home.
And tomorrow he's going to the post office.
Copyright © Cebelihle Mbuyisa | Year Posted 2013
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Details |
Cebelihle Mbuyisa Poem
He only saw a speech bubble from the
paper's cartoon section.
The facial expressions and gestures
were clear-that is the action.
'Hagar the Horrible' waving a sword
in the name of protecting the nation.
All that he saw in a paper's section.
And he yearned to grasp its meaning.
It's the funny characters that seized his
attention.
For though they were segregated they
showed some relation.
A jewel they seemed to be - why would
mom fix her eyes on them for so long?
Neared to her lap he did,
But mom put her cartoons down and
gave him a 'STOP NOW' glare.
Being a tiny toddler of two years
His curiosity no one could silence.
From his still barren vocabulary, he
managed to pull out a 'what' question.
With his worm-like finger he was able to
point at the section in question.
Albeit her irritation, the mother managed
to say:
Son,
When I was two years your senior
These characters you see invaded my
eyes bits by bits
In groups they went straight into my mind.
They further regrouped,
And, finally, I realised.
They were alphabets
Mating to form words
Words that formed sentences
Sentences that told a story
A story of grief and misery
And of happiness and jubilation.
And there I was
Hungrily swallowing it in
Blades escaped their sheaths
To force their way
Through my chocolate skin
So that tears streamed down my face
For I was but just reading.
Son, you will realise and comprehend,
In time.
Copyright © Cebelihle Mbuyisa | Year Posted 2013
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Details |
Cebelihle Mbuyisa Poem
She became his ex after they had had sex.
He told her to relax even though their act was lax.
He drove away for he owned a car.
She owned nought and couldn't go far.
His name was Max, at least that she knew.
After three months her gnawing doubts became certainty.
And so she gnawed at her nails.
For Max wasn't sending any mail.
Meanwhile, Max was enjoying the halcyon days of his youth.
What mammoth task did he have?
Inside him there was no fertilised ova.
Between him and her it was over.
It was after three years that she spotted a car so much like Max's.
Her hopes which now were high dwindled as the car came nigh.
As tears rolled down her cheeks
She managed to say,"that car looks like Max's, your father."
Confused, the young lad on her lap looked up and said nought.
Copyright © Cebelihle Mbuyisa | Year Posted 2013
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