Sunday 20 May 2012

IRENE:



Flour sacking dresses your bones,
Your dreams at the bottom of old paper bag,
Irene under African sun, Irene without a home,
Eyes down, hopes down, old breasts sadly sag.
 
Your corn-stoned feet have never known shoes,
Vulture- claw fingers search for life in a bin,
What would you be Irene, if you could only choose?
You´ve heard them talk & use that word “sin”.
 
You don´t understand, & I wonder if you even care,
Dustbin lady of the streets, rubbish of Jeppe town,
Where is your husband? Has he ever been there?
And have even your kids let you down?
 
You don´t blame any of them anymore, I see,
“Life´s hard for everyone, not just me”, you think,
Your family had to go, move one, be free,
In life you owe nobody anything, there is no link.
 
Irene, it´s not because you´re black,
There´s a white bag-lady like you, far far away,
She too lives out of a bin & wears the other half of your sack,
It´s just that life´s harder for some, life´s like that.

No comments:

Post a Comment