SPRINGTIME ON THE ROAD TO NABEEP Poem by Angifi Proctor Dladla

On the road to Nabeep I gasped and stopped
abruptly right in the moment - the keys
of the sun opening, without breaking,
the colours of Namaqualand.

The whole land suddenly exploded
into a magical panorama of purple,
yellow, orange, white, violet, blue.
Rocks and thatched roofs afar dazzled
with life. I suspect even the heads
and chins of herbalists and farmers
were part of the festival of flowers.

If heaven has streets of gold,
rain of milk, snow of honey;
the new arrivals' destruction of Earth
is a shrill cry to the Almighty.

Men of men had never daydreamed
about heaven; Namaqualand is still a melody of colours:
Bees, birds, red earth; beetles, faeries, butterflies.
I plunged into the Opening Ceremony with the San's song,
"Oh Gxaraken flower, are you opening?"
In my head I heard the aroma of chorus,
"We are opening Ncku-kyam flower."