My D'Urban
47A Poem Inspired by Life in Durban, South Africa, Land of the Zulus: When Will We Be Equal and Why Is There Such A Chasm Between Us?
Torn soles and ragged cloth
Pleading eyes and cupped palms
“The savages,” whispers a passerby
Yesterday’s news, tossed upon the floor
Torn, abused, discarded
Sewerage seeping from stained gutters
Today’s headlines, Killed, Slaughtered, Stolen
Traffic zooms by. Ghettos blast.
Cardboard boxes line the hard sidewalks
I pass the many market tables with
Bright plastic gods and fruit pyramids
Decor a la spray-painted street walls
To the shrills of an old three stringed guitar
A blind man sings O Sorrow My Africa....
And turn a corner
A few paces further
To be courted by bright lights and window signs
Laughter and bustle
Luminous doorways fronted by swept streets
Tall shiny buildings
Pink and white soft serve ice cream
Yet another block and it's
Shattered crystal
A pool of sticky urine down a wall
A scarlet stain on a park bench
Near a smiling, staring policeman
The wind shifts an airborne newspaper
Into a stained gutter
Torn, abused, discarded.
Audio adaptation of this poem is available at www.myspace.com/jeannepoisson
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Thanks for your feedback SaMcNutt - it means a lot to me because this poem, and this subject too, is so close to my heart. Your sensitivity to the issue is appreciated. Surfeitt
Oh, you've painted with words such a vivid picture. Thanks.
Thanks CMCastro - I appreciate feedback from a writer I admire. Surfeitt
SaMcNutt 22 months ago
reminds me of the movie Saraphina. That's what I have to compare it too, but I remember the contrast in the news when South Africa had elections in 1994. I feel that complexity in this poem, though more distant from that time.