THE DEATH OF A POET by Lethokuhle Msimang

I once kept still enough to write
I wrote
And the old marveled at my wisdom
And the young wondered where I went

I went to school and did my work
I went back home and did my work
I took long walks and thought of work
I read and wrote and slept

I once kept still enough to write
And then the people gathered

I went to school, I found a friend
I went back home with far more friends
I took long walks and thought of friends
I read and spoke and slept

When I was almost still enough to write
I wrote
And the old marveled at my beauty

I went to school in high heeled shoes
I went back home to nurse my feet
I took long walks with tired old men
I talked and wept and slept

And I want to blame my ruin on the people
They came too near and stole my art

But I’d never thought myself a poet
I just sat still and wrote
As though my thoughts fell from the sky

And my bucket held sturdy in the rain