Written by: Terry Komanyane

It’s hazy… opaque… clamour… and frizzy
My mind froze and clamours
It’s intense, grumpy, and rampant
Yet an image skewed, freckled and afar
Musical but torrent my head is screwed
Knocked up and nuts became loose
Thunderous and thumping bolt in my mind

A lament! A hymn... fading in the distance
Reverberated like a long lost song
A synagogue marching in a single line
 Face concealing garments swaying from side to side
From the morgue murmuring and mumbling

Oh! What a poor restful soul
Wrapped and helpless in a black loin
Suffering inside but without tears
Held in procession to the yard
Graves that consumes sumptuously

Anguish and agony antagonised the atmosphere
With occasional litany now and then
Young and old looked up and wiped off their tears
Blamelessly they tell but only tale stories
Stories bringing burden and sorrow