Poetry

At times sinister, other times placid,
just sweeping on
far over the horizon of the flat earth,
all life seems gone
in the arid landscape of the Karoo,
stone upon stone
shimmers in the great scorching noontime heat
while wild pigeons walk the roof with small feet.

Two old rusting wind-pumps guard the kingdom,
they are lifeless
and when the light wind passes they creak to life;
somewhat careless
rusting tools are strewn all around the grange,
quite purposeless
she pages through a very old magazine,
around her life and the world does decline.

Every day she picks a marigold
from the garden,
continually plays the “he loves me” game,
a passing warden
is at times the only male company,
she does pardon
her fiancé for not coming to visit,
but she does not really understand it.

As time passes she grows somewhat older,
time moves slowly,
the old wooden floor creaks under her feet,
far too lowly
her life seems while old portraits watches her
and gradually
she starts to live in a kind of strange dream,
at night inhuman voices laugh, cry and scream.

[References: “Mariana in the moated grange” in the play “Measure for Measure” by William Shakespeare and “Mariana” by Alfred, Lord Tennyson.]