fear tucks her in
trailing its hand on the deep punctures of the coyote’s grasp,
looking at the violent affection that became flesh
and deep scars left by emotional injuries.
Now, they are shadows coming out to play
in the eerie darkness of the night.
Nights when he takes his poison
scheming a feint attack,
scavenging on her tattering soul,
salting deep scars,
tormenting the wailing soul.
Out of fear she camouflages and mimics
not to displease him,
not to stagger on trembling legs,
not to deepen the punctures on her neck,
not to enrage him.
Not to be bashed onto concrete,
not to be dragged helplessly,
not to be bruised by the boxing,
not to be neutralised by the Qinna,
avoiding the inevitable grappling,
avoiding begging for her life!
Every dawn is welcomed with promises and sweet nothings
coercing her to stay, trapping her soul.
But day and night, the nightmares replay, stuck on rewind
deepening the scars, the wounds.
The vicious cycle imprints,
devouring her light.
Temporarily the drunken master takes leave
from practicing his styles on her,
briefly saved from a torrent of abuse,
until the weekend comes.
Then the drunken master
determined to feel powerful,
to have control,
to feel invincible,
strikes again and again and again
subjugating her body, mind and soul.
One Friday night,
the night was a special kind of blackness,
hugging the bright shining stars under the glow of a full moon.
Gently, gesturing her to escape into a peaceful reverie.
But then, the whispers of the night,
sounded the alarm, the drunken master has arrived!
She readied, to scurry away, to camouflage, to mimic
but this night was different.
She felt rumblings, vibrating under her feet,
echoing into a crescendo,
turning into a trumpet.
Then she heard the Matriarch speaking loudly: “Today we rise”
unleashing the Inner warrior!
Tonight there will be no more wide eyes,
no more trunk out!
She faced the drunken master with her back arched and tusks held high.
He looked at her, searching for a hint of fear
but only found, eyes of a lion.
It hysterically started laughing like a hyena.
She stood steadfast, feeling the courage of the earth penetrating her entire being,
brightening her soul, giving her the glow of the full moon.
He staggered, sobering up,
in that moment, he did not feel invincible anymore.
Quickly, scurrying away!
That Friday night,
a night full of whispers
with its special kind of blackness,
freed her from the chains of the tormenting abuse,
starting the transformation.
From now on, no more escaping to a peaceful reverie
but living it!
Patricia Pretorius, pen name BL Dineo, is born in the North West and lives in the beautiful city of Cape Town, where her soul feels most alive. She works in corporate and writing poetry is sacred to her.
She believes that writing is not just a creative outlet, but one of the oldest and greatest healers. BL Dineo sees writing as a space of freedom and a way to connect to the world. She writes to heal, inspire and to empower, mostly empowering woman.