An Owlet's Cry Poem by Nontobeko Dlamini

The sound of an owl,
Cracking in the heavy silence
Weighing on the night.
Hark! The forces dark and evil,
Are all out,
In their hunting menance
For the next soul,
To devour in taunting cruelity.
And the graveyard's rumbling
In aplause, welcoming
The next child born of death.

My son won't make it through daylight.
Lamented the old woman.
The couldron is ready,
And the witches have the owlet to fly you son,
A feat did on the young man attack...
Heavy breeding...faint...
much slower,
The stummering of words
Like the choeing of an infant...
Heavy silence...
A heavy wailing
From the house...
The ancestors could'nt save
Him from the cancer
Worming its way on the lungs to the liver.

Poor poor owlet,
She is lost, lonely
And terrified
Of the blazing electric lights.
She is unaware of the havoc
She is stiring with her
Unusual presence in the
compound.
Coinciding with the death
Of the first born son.
The spear of light,
To blaze through darkness,
Slicing through the winds of failure.
The pride of his father,
Spearheaded for success
In education,
To be a distinguished member
Of the community.

Shattering like a pocerlein vase,
With the slap of the drugs and alcohol,
Those dreams mouldered
With love natured.
Though repaired,
Never will it ever hold those flowers
Loved so much.
Only to catch dust
In that shelve,
Forever unattended,
And finaly whirling down
Like a vicious cat,
Attacking the granite floor.
Swirling a cloud of dust
To the air like a whirlwind.
Making the barerly sighted
Woman choke with tears,
Glistening her cloudy eyes.
At the thought of what could have been.