Herding cattle in rural Limpopo was adventurers
Towards the end of the day we would drive all cattle
To an open space closer to our homes
The goading of the bulls was automatic
We knew the mingling of our respective head of cattle,
Cows and bulls are bound to create all sorts of frictions
Masculinity, territorial dominance, protection of the meek,
Strangers, kissing and hugging, and blood shed,
The incident would be chaotic in the beginning
The young bulls knocking each other in a show of muscularity
While the last dance is left for the main attraction of the day
All mini fights would then be eclipsed leaving the arena ready
For the bull protagonists to fight to near death or death
Shepherds would all be watching standing afar
From the dangerous trample, knock down and horn stab
Let alone the splatter of blood
Exclamation of praise would heighten the fighting tempo
The sound of the horns’ collision would be deep to the ground
And the suffering of the grass would be in the air in flies
We would breathlessly be routing and routing for our respecting bulls
Calling their names would goad them further to go for the kill
Soon the grass would be gone and the bulls would be covered in a pall of dust
spectators seeing less and less of the action as it dissipates into death
Sometimes the noise of praise would ignite side fires
Those that caused by the kick of a rock by a zebra
Usually this happening during the slowdown or capitulation
The win or defeat by either would extend to our house holds
Goading fathers and grandfathers to fight with their respective counterparts
I have not seen such fights only gossip prevailed over them
Like the red eyes marijuana grandpa next door,
Said to be the bull king, defeated my grandpa in the gossip
I believed it, he looked the part
Interestingly we learnt with time that the bull’s fitness on the day counts
Thus the win and lose were a roller coaster with no long time matador
The ridicule of the losers interchanged like the win and loses
Short-lived rejoice and cries goad the shepherd boys
To emulate the fight of the dumb
These fights would escalate along the lines of age and height
Natural rules of the boxing game,
At times the shepherd fights became ugly and reach a point of limbo
Relations of any sort in the community would be destroyed forever
All because of the goad of the dumb
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem