“You can kill a man, but you can’t kill an idea…” – Medgar Evers
Words are immortal
For as long as they are uttered
Mothered, nurtured, muttered
They themselves, like a mustard seed,
Seem to pass fleetingly from our lips
From the physical, into the meta –
Into small dark spaces to germinate in hidden places
To take root, and grow until they are all over the show
Branches everywhere, shrubbery of the soul
Sowing seeds of their own in the unseen
Poets are not immortal
Our immortality lies in the words we speak
Written, recorded prophecies and exhortations for a generation
Who is more preoccupied with pictures
We can trend today, commit social suicide by streaming the wrong revolution
And find ourselves gone tomorrow
But the words will remain…
Will they though?
The meaning might change.
Editors might rearrange phrases for the sake of space….
Move periods and dashes that seem out of place…
But the words still remain…
At least until the day they are no longer read or uttered
Nurtured and mothered and muttered
Until the day that the poet’s memory is a faded relic in the sands of time…
And the breath of the poem is smothered…
Only the greatest among us will live forever.
But for today –
young poet, young prophet, young priest
Stay true –
Stay true to your calling, stay true to yourself
And maybe, just maybe
You’ll make it after all
For… Poets are not immortal
Your immortality lies in the TRUTH –
The whole truth – nothing but the truth – you speak
Andre Labuschagne is a poet, musician and youth minister from Johannesburg.
He has been writing poetry for a number of years, but has yet to find a publisher that suits his voice. Growing up in the church and having studied Theology, religious imagery and moral themes are often found in his work although the main theme of his poetry will always be the exploration of the deeper self and our purpose here in the universe.