Hastily, he rises
But the poise of his feet drags him down
He submerges himself into multiverses
Each one with a plaque yet to be carved from the granite
He shares the darkness with the night
The vigil of the light is haunted by the dreams of wishes that are never prayed for
Lost and aloof,
only enticed and invited by nightmares.
The pages of the chapters fall off from the spine
He picks up only blank pages
They become mirrors of thoughts that are still floating before they can find the one who summons them
Each time he wants to read this book, he finds the characters quarreling that they don’t want him to dream their stories
He never reaches the end, whenever he smiles, he closes the book and waits for the sunshine to bring him laughter.
Chasing notes with cords
The music is the melody of enchanted chimes
Strings hang from the trees
But the hangman flees with the wind
The harp sits lonely, the dead are too fragile to string a hum
The orphans write sophomores of the mazes of mantras
Their compositions of love, the wretch choruses of despair.
Spirits don’t have names
they smile with open hearts
They don’t let the burdens of the past blur their smile
Souls are the pages of history
The invisible laughter is inherited by the bold
those who sacrifice their past to write new beginnings.
Nkateko Tshabalala is a self published author of Poetic Flair, Amazon (2018).