Sicelo Sithole Poems

With patience I wait upon my words, with scrolls full of simple things we won’t find
In this dream I alone chase away memories and the lost words that now forever rest behind
Your world of beauty and innocence, the world forbidden from this desire I have inside
You are all my reasons I write of all the sweetest words that in my heart forever hide
...

Early in the morning I will see her
Dancing in the circles of her own songs
With no smile she told me all the stories under her breast bare
Revealing the nature of her heart that forever longs
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Here is to the house now old
Inside rest all the stories untold
It is a place where all our good memories were mold
Storms of hunger, pain and death came by but the dignity was never sold
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In my own designs I have always dreamt of you
In all these years I have walked away towards the notion, of the people I thought they will raise you from death
I still hold your robe of gentleness with the hands that saw all the seasons, of your cold heart and health
In all my art I have always paved your name as a signature of my loving memory
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O! Silent eyes, does from you any goodness prevail
Or you are truly as they say a slaughter of a young man’s desire
I have words for you, words that will hold your beauty in my heart before it sails,
Away to the hearts with cold ash on matters of love, tenderness and peace
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And I could swear that all this time I was dreaming
Down there at the laundry, a dusty room with portraits of catholic religion
And behind those shattered glasses, shadows and walls
An old piano
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The birds are skinny rats
The oceans and skies are filthy cats
Through this magic window
All things fall to the wings of this blue shadow
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Four boarders, languages, clans of colour and an old age of metals
Bare landscapes, rare travels, ancestry, raw sleeves and petals
The natives: The slaves, then the market and the money
The inventions, alchemy, the art a sweet harmony!
...

Maybe Alone

Right
through
...

Like a soft wet wind
I bring joy to the young, dancing in the silence of the brown fields
To the old, waiting in the depths of the walls built by this old dry wheat
I dissolve their tears upon the joy of my voice, as I laugh in places where I eat
...