Letter to Peace (I will…)
I will wipe the dust off the bulb of the moon
So that it’s light illuminates your night paths,
On your way home soon.
I will summon the galactic winds to twirl earth into shorter days,
The waiting has been long enough.
I will go back in time and surrender when this yearning for your divine presence motions
My hands to set the horse shoe onto the chief’s horse (Thabure);
Mop the Caledon River dry with your absence that engulfs us here, albeit memories as many as the sand pebbles of the vast Kalahari;
And be by your side when you pre-empt these border bridges riddled with injustice and treaties…hear my plea and come to our shores.
I will brighten the dark clouds that spell the ominous, and sing them into gentle rains,
to make the grass here greener. And beseech Tlatlamacholo (god) to lay his hand above your head as you journey here.
I will stoke the fires of old; place the maize comb by the glaring ash for you;
Dig up a well for your thirst;
Days are long with every life’s struggle and strive but days are eternally dark
When they don’t bear an ounce of your aura.
We will spend our summers in the Kwa Zulu Natal where you tamed King Shaka’s spear when Moshoeshoe said Ndabezitha unto him; I hope you remember.
We will fill the silence with conversations about meaning, earth, humans, laws, impunity, prejudice, perceptions, the ism’s, tolerance, history,
God, truth, objectivity, identity, compassion, forgiveness, love, political platitudes in want of wit yet capture young warrior men while in their glorious youth. I will imagine all cardinal points at whose fingertips is all manner of culture, imperialism and unpaid reparations, then we will go back home to embrace it for what it is and think about hope.
I’ll plant avenues of the indigenous poplar tree for your shade and beat down the seboku grass for the comfort of your feet.
Peace, listen to our yearnings speak,
Permeating high walls laden with silence where great men say they are only trying to remain “discreet”.
I will prepare a sacrificial lamb and in its letting out its last bleat;
Be grateful it is the one being sacrificed, than you again, oh Peace!
Atang Mantutle is an African Mosotho man who appreciates poetry; sharing his, reading others’ and just listening to the next person’s poetic thoughts.