The Guardian Of The Flames Poem by Gert Strydom

Always there have been
something holy to me,
about flames
that comes alive suddenly.

It’s a great thing
to see flames spread
and to see yellow licking tongs,
consume wood
and to get heat, energy
and comfort from it.

At a time human existence
surely depended on
keeping the secret
of flames
and to make sure,
that the last glowing coals
do not die.

When I was a child,
my brother and me
almost burnt a hillock
and some residences down
by misadventure.

The more I tried to kill
the small fire,
that I started in the long brown winter grass,
the more the fire spread.

It’s a fact that my behind
also burnt on that occasion
from a hiding
with a old fan belt
and I learned quickly,
what the power of fire is
and how to act responsibly with matches.

Tonight I am the guardian of the flames
at the fireplace in the lounge
and I take care of the hot coals
and have to put wood on
before the fire dies.