Like A Zombie (Swinburne Roundel) Poem by Gert Strydom

(After C Louis Leipoldt)

Like a skeleton he was slim as if from bone
while as if asleep he moved on,
chilly heartless like solid stone,
like a skeleton

but we were locked-down and alone
while it seemed if from him all hope was gone,
on television his voice had a awful tone
like a skeleton,

his eyes held no compassion, were like desert sands,
without feeling, sorrow or any kind of surprise,
dried-out like a mummy slowly moved his hands,
his eyes

seemed unearthly as if from another sphere wise,
while he spoke of a pestilence destroying all lands,
for long moments I thought this must be a disguise.

As a minister of state he solemnly stands,
projecting about a illness where far too many dies
but in all of this it was as if he understands,
his eyes

vague but in control as if noctambulant did mine meet
and somehow it seemed that he had no heart or soul,
while almost mechanically he did his words repeat:
vague but in control,

he acted as if we stuck to China and its CDC on the whole,
effectively like them we would the virus meet
and Cuba would help in one or other role.

His words were suddenly forceful but also sweet
and I wondered if communism was his goal,
while from China a deadly thing is now on the street,
vague but in control

as if he was unaware of any lurking evil or its might,
while almost shell-shocked people watched him with a stare.
Little children, mature women and men were full of fright,
as if he was unaware

and it seemed in the midst of this he does in a way care,
were considering treatment to the poor and their plight,
and all my emotions flashed one thing: beware!

Still there was no real kind of evil in plain sight,
to me a charlatan wanted with communist help to prepare,
while life was upside-down and darker than the night,
as if he was unaware:

we all had indoor to stay as the virus is deadly,
children could not anymore together play
and all the measures seemed very severe to me,
we all had indoors to stay

and suddenly all freedom was swept away,
where life was futuristic as if it was meant to be
but not from a loving God and I started to pray,

I prayed for a world full of iniquity,
also for the highest leader who steadfastly set the way
and I also prayed that again we would be free,
we all had indoor to stay.

[Poet's note: "The Zombie" by C Louis Leipoldt from his poetry volume: "Dick King and other poems." I am quoting the poem: "The Zombie" by C Louis Leipoldt right here as I view it as important:

"The Zombie by C Louis Leipoldt"

"His face was like a bleached bone
The desert wind unsands,
And cold and white, like marble stone,
Were both his mummied hands.

His eyes were clouded like the eyes
Of fish no longer fresh;
No glint of anger or surprise
Within their depths did flash.

Heedless like a noctambulant
He passed along his way,
And little children as he went
Ran crying in from play.

The women crossed themselves and held
Their eyes upon the ground,
Until his passing had dispelled
The fear his presence found.

And old men, very close to death,
But still afraid to die,
Gabbled a spell beneath their breath,
Until he had passed by.

Only the stranger, unaware
Of evil's awful might,
Looked at him with a curious stare,
And wondered at the sight,

And asked a native lad who ran
Some twilight tryst to keep,
‘What is that dreadful-looking man
Who walks as if asleep? '

With startled glance the home-born youth
Spoke with averted head,
As if he feared to tell the truth,
‘A Zombie, sir, ' he said.

I went into a crowded hall,
And heard an old man speak
Of ending wars, ‘which, after all,
Were hopeless for the weak.'

With an old man's garrulity
He glibly drooled along.
The future, so he said, would be
Made peaceful by the strong.

All little nations would obey
The greater ones above.
The greater ones would have their say,
And rule the world by love.

I whispered to my neighbour man
(Who seemed to pray or weep) ,
‘What is this awful charlatan
Who talks as if asleep? '

Tear-stained bi-focals fixed my eyes;
He slowly shook his head,
And whispered back in mild surprise,
‘A Statesman, sir, ' he said."]
© Gert Strydom