814 Nerina Street Poem by Jose Claassen

This street is so full of my life this Noordgesig
is so full of the rival gang’s knife
that reduced Melagog to pieces
like the fractions of a brighter future
that cunningly elude
the spiritually starving youths

This stoep bursts with the memories
that have given birth
to three generations of De Waals,
and to me,
the man with the ever-searching heart
searching for parts
of my identity in every face I meet
along each winding path with which mine crosses

These original wooden doors
and ceiling boards
are coated with paint
as well as the years of comforting kitchen aromas
and prudent council,
these bedroom floors
and wardrobe doors
are lined with the same inviting smiles
that had welcomed many a weary traveller
with open arms

Grandma and Grandpa
are no longer here
but the memory of their marriage hangs intact:
there they stand in a frame on the wall
tall and straight as blades of grass
before the years had bent them

And now something in this street,
in this Noordgesig
in this twilight of smouldering destinies
and unsung heroes
something in the faces
of these spiritually starving youths
calls me pulls me
draws me bends me –
like the spiral of rising smoke – ever upward
from coal stoves of old

Something in this house holds so much of who I am
firmly in the grasp of its
blue walls and antique furniture
that every time I visit
there waits a brand new reason
to strive, to rise, to shine
until I touch at least God’s heels
for all of those who don’t know yet
that one day
they would love to see His face…