staging one’s death by Kgosietsile Dintlhoane

Kgosietsile Dintlhoane | June 5th, 2009 | poetry | No Comments

the heart is perfectly cold –
no room for love,

that rope and that stoel over there are perfect where they are
but where is the lighter and the paraffin
i want to burn while I dangle like a fruit suffocating,

where is the audience –
family and foes
i did not notice the difference –

where are the candles
it is too dark in my soul

and where is the knife to cut off my tongue
i would not want to scream
while I hang like a fruit burning –

u see dying has become a need for me now,

i would not afford any mistakes –

at least not this time –

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