Poem by Marc Aupiais
Elephant skin- is how I'd describe the cloud.
Elephant skin, maybe a dry rocky desert,
A highveld, Kruger style drought!
She spoke to me, standing barefoot on Mother Earth.
She stood softly in front of a grave,
In the graveyard of Mother Church!
And on the grave- engraved her name!
Dead now, but always alive,
Buried in the graveyard in the bowels of Mother Church,
Set several feet below dear Mother Earth!
She spoke- standing on an elephant like cloud!
It shook its ears,
And began to charge!
Yet mist turned to mist,
And every threat was gone!
Sucked in by her grave,
Her death- chaste life!
She spoke to me of love,
Of the blackness of hearts-
And how to love she taught!
A dead woman- centuries mist!
She spoke to me of passion!
Of promises,
The deadliness of Caesar's lust!
And she spoke to me,
An anchor tied around her neck,
Three arrows in her heart.
Her bones all splintered and broke!
She stood there,
Fire arrows flying left,
Flying right, right into the vision of eternal light and finite timeousness of night!
And then my ankles were below the dirt, and the sand storm of time came-
I was buried un-timeously-
In night!
Hyenas- cleaned my bones clean,
And together with her, stood my grave,
Kindly engraved-
With the name others in mankind-
Did call me promptly by!
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