Jandeer: The Recluse Poem by Charl JF Cilliers
Jandeer: The Recluse
The tongue of need is mute:
something grows within,
cannot come out.
Hands cannot explain.
They do not cook or clean.
Days hang like cobwebs,
strung with creatures
caught. Struggling.
Without sound.
Wrapped tighter
and tighter in meaningless acts.
The answering machine
keeps taking messages.
Dirty clothes are strewn
about like discarded skin.
Nothing changes,
takes wing.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/20/2024 3:03:14 AM # 1.0.0.1119
