Story Poem by Thabani Khumalo

Some of the waters over the soils -
Sour as tears seldom seen
Guttering from weeping's never heard,
They tell a story that's clandestine.

Some of the sweat running down my skin
Is somehow the tears I do not shed -
Orders unheeded within my soul;
Hatred and anger having found a home.

Savory is the mercy I do not portray;
Minutes to meetings that I've been to.
Sullen and sorry, so, you have me judged
But, none of my stories are meant for you.

There is a tally within my sores;
Rumors of sorrow succeed this era,
Dimming all destiny: perdifying.
Scrabble my draw-card with marks of pen.

All of the features concealed - not seen,
Scars and the scratches beneath my hair,
They tell a story of who I am but,
None of my stories are meant for you.

Mysteries of history under shades of color
Carry the essence of riverbed gold;
Glitters of credit but buried low...
None of my stories are meant for you.