Mama said homes are like fingers,
uneven, tailor-made,
with contours that add texture
to make up the home’s character.
She said when visitors walk into our home
they should feel warmth for hours,
as if the sun’s rays live here,
to remind them that brighter days are near.
Mama said we should remember
that we aren’t islands
that our survival lies in our unity
that as our cups overflow
we can’t leave those in need on empty.
She said treat visitors like customers,
fulfil their every need even if it’s at your expense
don’t let them see your loss,
they aren’t used to winning,
you’ve seen too few losses to compare
so stop whining,
keep supporting them,
they need it more.
Mama said they won’t stay long,
like watermelon on a warm day,
days turned into months
moulding into years.
My room turned into theirs,
went from the couch to the kitchen floor,
our home turned into a house,
cold, love less,
like a basket of bitter olives,
as former victories became persistent losses.
Mama got tired;
no strength to fight,
little energy for her sustained fake smile,
a dying hopefulness that in time order would be restored.
We got smaller as their egos grew wings,
too big for the place,
in need of more space,
home turned into a shack in the back.
Like their visit mama said it’ll be temporary,
each day we’d ask when we’d go back,
their family grew,
kids were now grandparents,
expanding at our expense.
Older brothers got tired
as kindness killed us,
grown enough to fight,
they took up arms,
blasting watermelons for practice,
as visitors decided we weren’t worthy
of the tiniest space.
Kindness was now met with violence,
we’d brought peace to a gun fight,
all painted with our brothers’ brush,
misplaced colour meant to be cleared
off the canvas with watermelon’s bright red,
hoping our kids would be the seeds that remain,
as a reminder of our existence
on the land of our forefathers,
those that once tended to love-filled olives.
A creative storyteller who strives to put a mirror up to South Africa. Who believes that the more we see ourselves for who we are, the more likely we are to treat each other with more humility. Over the years, he’s done this through various mediums, from short films and adverts to published poetry and short stories