Standing In A Valley Of A Thousand Poems Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

This valley known to history speaks,
shakes like the seismic saga and sinks
knowing Noone will belive me when I say
I stand in the valley of a thousand poems.

One ant heap here reads the termites that
dance in my head and says it wants to be
a mountain. This also you will not believe.

This one here rises like the moon, a woman
trying to carry a load on her haed. Tough
luck, her bundle says. No biceps no do.

This one hoots like the owl. Someone is in danger of going where all owls go. This place where bats also make sure they do not go to alone.

This dance in this valley gets warmer when
the chimneys caugh fire. Knowing they do so noiseless means cancer finds us in a dead sleep.

The poets blow the trumps and all these poems stand and sing the click song. Dreds
that are locked up kick doors and state
What kind each poem is.

I answer for you blank verse, and all the
clapping happens. The valley says it fears the species for to eat poetry would be to eat their own kind. Every animal does not eat it's droppings.

So clean is the valley because of this truth. We sit together in agreement for
we are chewing the cud together hoping
no flood will come into the valley, for
climate change is real.





















having borrowed