I have had stories told,
The ones that hit the target and those that missed the target
So raw are those that hit the target in the mist of the row whose story is never told
Except when the power is sunk to the earth
And the smoke and dust are coming out as clue
The inhalers of the smoke and dust missed the incident
Either with inches or far between
With luck they may have touched it or saw the peddlers
So they tell a story of missed chances and doom sayers
The raw bullet is never found
Except when the power is high in the air and the story is told by the shooter
We often go hunting for the raw bullet
That is often hard to find except when the net is too wide and inescapable
Sometimes the true story is told after many hits in the beginning, the middle or at the tail end
The one that is told by the rise of smoke and dust is nothing but the pass of time
The narrators have become good at the projection of imagination
Or the interpretation of the cause of the smoke and dust
N Nkuna,24 June 2013
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem