Trails Of Native Lands That We Walked On Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

Tell me of the Indian trail,
And I will show you a Khoisan trail,
For nomads walk on the sand bare footed,
And the Chicana row the boats on lakes,
Bigger than the Okavango where water lilies,
Sing in the night and hide the snouts of
Creeping crocodiles bigger than a whale.

For I left a land supreme with rules,
Of life intact that molded in me a person,
Not perfect but almost for I was to seek
A new home, where I had to learn to eat,
And cook without putting any food on
The flames, that glow above the coals.

They say it is adventure when you jump,
From tree to tree like Tarzan wearing
A loin skin, as Black and as invisible as,
The one I have on, even though I do not
Know how to swing on twines and land
On the opposite side of the river.

I have listened to sounds animals make aired,
Out of multiple channels some insolent some
Holy, for I am listening on a borrowed pair
Of ears, my pair having stoppers from afar,
That still ring of music from the sounds,
Of the clicks of the Khoisan.

They say our people know how to place
A leaf, and get water from the due that,
The night has left and dig so deep that,
Water giving roots come out and quench,
The thirst of a whole people.

And here where the land now bleeds,
The native people look on and cry,
For they see that the life we live,
Has come to take and not leave any,
Trace that there was once a life of,
Giving and sharing what the land gave.
The land itself cries for it has given,
Until it can give no more for the way,
It has been treated has been so rough,
That only death emanates from the ground,
Once kind.