My Letters To You Poem by Gert Strydom

Think of me
when the wind whirls
lines of dust up on the farm
and you watch clouds in the bright blue
for hours long
that pass like ships
over your head.

I send letters to you
from which more than half
of words, paragraphs and lines
are censored out with purple blue ink
telling a hundred and one stories
out of far of Angola
about how I stand at the door
of a Hercules
and green bushes
pass like dark dragons beneath
and I descend out of the blue
on Cassinga.

Later brigades of Cubans
with armoured cars, tanks,
fighter jets and helicopters
hanging abominable in the air
are included in my narrations
and maybe
they wipe every thing of that out,

but to our love
nobody can do any thing
and every letter
carries an embrace and a kiss.