Msunduzi and other poems

Sihle Ntuli

Msunduzi 

this river is far        too near    to the person who came
so close to killing you.        you should consider yourself
lucky to have lived    despite a constant urge to plunge
yourself back        even deeper          beneath the water.
there is still          a part of you                       yearning to
discover how deep the river goes      whilst holding firm
in your belief      that despite                           a loss of will
power     the current     is determined           by ones own
presence of mind           to withstand          the rich allure
of temptation                                 to not hold ones breath
for so long   not realising   you are on the verge of dying.

— —

Little Fingers 

1.

a sermon treading softly, a breeze borne from wings. a sound of fluttering pages gliding through Genesis; sliding past Solomon, the gospel unravelling from his throat, an intensity of gathering winds, his hoarse voice coarse like steel-on-steel sound, a neck, a throat raw, a bellowing spirit inside of him. 

2.

a childish game, seeking the degree of ucikicane’s bend. a surrealism of twins; a mysticism of our bond that no one could understand. a comparative study of palms in gogo’s garden, where I agree with you, your pinkie fingers bend slightly more than mine. summer sunshine overhead, dark clouds hovering, foreshadowing the impending arrival of rain.

3.

a search for a remedy to relieve his unrelenting sharp pain, a neck. a strong scent of imphepho burned, a voice that once gathered strong winds fallen into shadow, a quietening before a storm, the fleshy part of his palm holding his neck, a man of the cloth on reed mat, awaiting the revelation of bones.

4.

a wincing pastor holding his palm to his neck, our grandmother emerging from the courtyard, a slow revelation of diagnosis, a diagnosis that we could not understand, the bones of a sangoma prescribing a remedy inside of our little hands, our little palms, the bend in his pinkie fingers.  

5.

a holding, twisting firmly & repeat, our palms on his neck. for his sake we did it gently, he implored us, forcefully, to pull with meaning, & so we did it, with the intention to break the neck, & so freed him, into a deep sleep, worried that we had killed him.

6.

a heavy silence until the pastor awoke, he said nothing to us, silenced by the remedy — healed by four tiny hands, the slight bend of pinkie fingers. his legs staggering towards the door, a heel song sound of shoes, disappearing into the rain. 

— —

Closed for Prayers

of summer sun & flora,

                                                             the once cordial relationship of a Christian- Muslim community.  

a source of nature’s sauna,

the feud had been brewing for quite some time.

large green leaf for a handmade breeze,

the commotion began just before midday.

in lieu of relief, a spread of heat,

the sliding doors of the store had remained closed.

a gentle discomfort,

                                                                    the owners of the KwaMashu Pick n Pay had left for Jumu’ah.

a faithful movement of wrists,

the majority of the locals were Christian.

large green leaf at odds with humidity,

the small crowd waiting outside; flustered & anxious.

good intentions spread the heat,

the store-manager in isiZulu pleaded for calm.

source of a wildfire,

the man in isiZulu shouting back,“the Muslims have won this nation”.

summer rain left inside clouds,

                                                                                              the contagious anger spreading across their faces.

a wildfire engulfing the large green leaf,

the moment when I closed my eyes.

— —

Ghazal in the Wilderness  

origin story of our ancestors running for their lives 
our name emerges from this wilderness

amid congestion of flesh & bones of city sidewalks 
an abandonment like being lost in the wilderness  

industrial noise of drilling, a hole left in the earth         
stench of wet road, rain fills the void, away from the wilderness 

on spacelessness    on yearning to leave the urban decay          
on the need for room to breathe    on crying in the solitude of the wilderness

graceful gazelle grazing in grasslands of Kwazulu                              
head towards the soil   to feel nourishment in the wilderness

when positioning of the sun   was once a way to measure time  
because hands of time    were so much gentler in the wilderness

sunset transitions from orange-purple-like sky in distance     
eyes on the beauty of dusk, basking in wonders of the wilderness

my grandmother reincarnated as a praying mantis 
cicada at night fall   a call into her arms     as I soften in the wilderness

— —

Die Swart Gevaar  

after the events of the Phoenix Massacre 

                           in the name of protection of property

 the massacres left fresh wounds behind               
                             on the news they said, 

 that Phoenix community groups had banded together  
                           to protect themselves from the danger       
                           while the danger prayed                             

                           in the name of Jesus

                           while the danger hoped
 that the terror would stop,     
                           for scapula bones to turn 
                           to fully formed wings. 

                           in the name of blind vultures

the lens-less drones         
the  unseeing bird
& there were no television cameras 
during the wait for the soldiers to come 

                          in the name of a justice deferred     

& nobody knew 
in which direction help would come from,  
there was only the expectation 
that help would eventually come

                          in the name of law & order

for a restoration of order   
foe a much-needed closure of the open wound 
left bleeding profusely.  

& despite the dire need of Phoenix 
all things tend to begin up north, 
the soldiers first appeared in Johannesburg,            

& by the time
the soldiers eventually arrived  
Phoenix had already bled out 

                      in the name of silence 

& not much could be heard other than the firing of weapons,
one resident even said,
that to some of them
it all seemed…                   

“like a game & they were enjoying it”

                       in the name of die swart gevaar

& a truth of it all
is that echoes of a black danger have lived on,

under our troubled rainbow 
of only two colours,  

& together we once toiled 
on sugarcane plantations of Illovo,

& based on the discrimination they once faced 
as migrant labourers bought in from India

one would think that there would be a common understanding 
of what it means to truly suffer.

                        in the name of self defence

& while they were shooting 
danger in the back,  after danger had turned around to run 
the time had come to consider that perhaps  

there was a now a new danger? 
& one wonders if danger is the word they used to defend their actions

because how did they manage to get away with it? 

even after all those lifeless black bodies in Phoenix
just lying there     
on the side of the road