Lindiwe Poem by Khumo Mhlanga
Lindiwe
Blinded…
Hearing life from a distance
Silence, your teary response
Eyes wide open
Life still happening right before you
But sight isn’t responding – not by choice
Pulled a little further away with each breath taken
Ironic…
In the end, you were weighed down
Life, the contraption around your neck
Galloping from one task to the next
Baby…mom…dad…implosion
Siblings now part of the soil
He…once whispering love in your ear
Painting pictures of a tomorrow you could see
And feel, touch, taste
Memory serves only to re-inflict the wound.
No time now - keep moving
Can’t listen to the body that needs to keep you buoyed
I wonder if you knew
That there was still so much left…
Smiles to share;
Springs of laughter yet to erupt from your belly;
New eyes through which to watch life unfolding
Innocence to protect
You would’ve seen the stars in his eyes. I’m sure of it!
One last headache;
One final sleep.
Hats off to you
Your early departure won’t dim the shine of our yesterdays with you
Still alive – the best of you now echoed in “Freedom”
Rest now
Peace…”Awaited”
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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4/24/2024 4:50:15 AM # 1.0.0.1119
To everyone reading this poem, here's a bit of background: Her name was Lindiwe - literally meaning 'awaited'. When her son was barely 2 years old, she suffered from a bout of severe meningitis: the previous doctors that she had consulted failed to diagnose her correctly. A lot of people thought that she had dies from HIV, but she was confirmed to be HIV negative at the time of her son's birth and also at the time of her death. She collapsed one day. Went into hospital and had some contraption put around her neck as a form of treatment. In the end, she suffered a meningitis-induced stroke which left her blind. She could hear everyone that came to visit her in those last lonely days in hospital - but from very far off. She could only release a tear as her way of letting people know that she was still in there. She died a week after admission into hospital. This is my tribute to her...and to her son - Nkululeko, which means 'Freedom'.