A juggernaut of silence sauntered into a pitiless brain
Moments before, we witnessed a canvass of forgotten thoughts in his pupils
Motionless as he lay, as if he forgot to breathe, his soul raced on chariots trying to catch up to his prayers
Maybe the chase is the eternity we dream about, the serenity we seek
For without prayers, maybe the soul takes up a sword to wrestle the spirit from the jaws of hell hounds . . .
The juggernaut of silence bangs very loudly
Not from his lips, but from our bereaved hearts
We emulate his breathlessness as we allow grief to possess our bodies . . .
We block the rays of sunshine in solidarity with his journey through darkness
We fear moments to our self as if it’s a scale of narcissism and selfishness
For we know that the night comes with the light
A constellation of our sorrows . . .
We forget that we need to pause, plot and play to rekindle the essence of the spirit.
Nkateko Tshabalala is a self-published author of Poetic Flair.