Biography of Isaac Abrahams
My teacher believed I would be published before I was 19. My teacher however did not take into considerations the wrong choices I would make during my last three years of school and the years after school.
I started writing again two years ago. Picked up again on a movie script I started writing while still in school as well as other short stories I was working on at the time.
Lately it seems as if something is driving me. I make notes of ideas I have to work through when I have the time. The poems I posted is part of a collection of five poems. The two I posted here is to test what you think of my work. The other three will not be posted as I am working on a collection of poems which I hope to submit to a publisher next year. For this reason I beg you; 'Please let me know what you think of my writing. Negative comments and advice is dearly welcome.'
I am also writing in my home language, Afrikaans, after refusing to use the language as a form of protest during the Apartheid years. I was forced to use it at school as I was enrolled at an Afrikaans school by my parents. I did my studies after school in English. My Afrikaans teacher at school and later one of my lecturers at college said I was selling myself short not using my home language, to which I replied on both occasions: 'How can I when there are people in our country who are forced to use it in their schools and universities because it was government policy and not their wish to do so.'
I now teach Afrikaans to Black South Africans who choose to study it.
Isaac Abrahams Poems
in the veld it is a beautiful leaf carpet a feast for the eye
a cloudless sky has humbled man as all his technology meant nothing
We speed forth on black ribbons guided by nameboards and figures that tells how far it still is
at night they visited me uninvited yet invited I tried chasing them away
Together we sang a duet you and I, the music was heavenly our voices soothing.
I Wish I Can Be
i search and I search i see so much and I see nothing
Somewhere in the Milky Way, Who knows? Someone may be looking at us, Listening to us,
We Her Children?
Out of a muddy soup Something which had never been appeared The beginning small has been…
How she happened Depends on what we believe But her health depends on our attitude, Yet, one thing is for sure
Somewhere in the Milky Way,
Someone may be looking at us,
Listening to us,
And who knows,
Shaking his head
Wondering why it is
That a species locked together in a bubble