Safe in my tender mind
Believing the world is a play ground
Every toy for me and all in the play
I, the king to direct the play
And tell of the frolic jump or the oncoming rainstorm
Every cry for me and ilk for loss of sweet and fall
Tears on the mother’s bosom
Cushion under my knees on the gravel ground
Unaware of the basketball and soccer play by the same field
Unaware that both games are won on the maternal side
Unaware that in fact I’m not the king of play
Nor the rich king who owns the wares and play
Unaware that I play under the maternal umbrella all the time
Safe in tender mind
The dawn of day yet to come
On which there will be no basking in the sun
On which the rainstorm will come by the hind side
To rake conscience to the horrible light
Horns will stick out of my head like a thorny bush
And will remain so throughout the dry seasons
Mother will feel the sting of thorns through osmosis
Thus she will live by it with a smile nursing the swollen heart
My cry of play will pin her more down the drain of tears
There will be more questions than answers by the sight of man
Thorns of truth assuaged by the visitation of the familiar
The sun will set cutting the light of day
Pitting mother against the wall of truth
Subjecting her to the endless cry of the fatherless child
N Nkuna,4 June 2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem