My birth

Written by: De Waal Venter

Dark brown and warm
next to the coal stove.
Red glinting hot
through the cracks.

Food smells 
hold my hands,
caress my head.

Yes, I can walk
to the door.
The road is lightening up,
curves down
to the river.

I walk alone
swinging my arms
for the first time.

Down there
songs are sung in green,
games are played in light,
jokes are made in red, orange;
blue girls' voices
talk about me.

OK, I'm coming.