Silent thoughts ripping through the womb of my constructed reality
Confusing my life’s surety, obscuring the light of my path
I yearn for an eternal tranquility, to drink from its springs to quench gothic fires
I need to find my way back home to the cradle of my thoughts reciting the variations of my dreams
I stand in the judgment of divinity
A pen in my hand, yet never the same story told about the prophecy of my words
Tales of ascension to the stage of life we never about me
I played the part of the orator, the script written by the will of God for me to be the night colliding with the light
And now I breathe unto the sweet designs of life
It is a solitary and solitude realm of benediction
To feel the unseen, to hear the unspoken
To be radiant in the encapsulated light of prayers.
Nkateko Tshabalala is a self-published author of Poetic Flair. Full bio at Poetrypotion.com.