The things I never said
I stand beneath the heavy shadow of the my father's old chair,
my breath suspended, fragile,s s n g s l a n t i n g i n t h e a i r…
Molomo o sekamego, a trembling fault line,
where the truth twists sideways before it reaches daylight.
My tongue—a clumsy, tangled bird—tumble-stutters,
afeela raranya leleme le ea tlabana,
trying to construct a cathedral out of fractured air.
*ke leka go uta…*
*se ke…*
*se entseng…*
I lean obliquely against the crushing weight of his gaze.
Ke leka ho uta se ke se entseng,
holding back the tide of a boyish, broken secret.
Inside my skull, the psychological gears grind—
an architecture of guilt, an imbalance tilting toward terror.
*f a l l i n g a s k e w…*
*b r e a t h l e s s…*
*v e i l e d i n g r a c e…*
Nka re go swana le mehleng ya tate—
for in his era, every line was straight, absolute, unyielding.
Yet here I bend. Here I warp.
I weave a cunning lace of pleasing words and desperate flattery,
mantswe a kgopama, a patela bohloko,
framing an excuse to keep my tiny fragile universe from shattering.
*ke leka go khupetsa…*
*se ke…*
*se entseng…*
Ke thoma ho inama, ke theohela tlase—
descending into the quiet sanctuary of surrender.
I press my trembling forehead against his towering knee,
hoping the warmth of my submission will erase the stain.
Empa leihlo la tate le otloloha nnete;
his eyes are sharp geometry, piercing through my paper lies.
*s h a d o w s d r i f t i n g…*
*u n s t e a d y e c h o e s…*
*p u r i f i e d i n a i r…*
Ke batla go lokiša, go lekalekanya,
to smooth the crumpled edges of this twisted tale,
to stretch the distorted storyline until it lies flat again.
Moo lipuisano li ka papamalang hape—
where silence and speech meet in transparent, weightless harmony,
mme ka fumana kgotso,
and the fractured mind finally finds rest in his forgiveness.
Copyright © Asher matome Chipu | Year Posted 2026
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