Poetry

Gert Strydom


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30 january 2013

The prodigal son [2]

I
 
Hunger gnaws at my stomach
and a much deeper hunger of which the pain does not want to fade
 
when intensely the sun hangs day-long above me,
when I catch the smell of the farmer’s barbeque fire
 
and I have to cover my nakedness with rags
while I have got to graze on pods like a mere animal.
 
II
 
When the sun sets in the distance over the hillocks
in my hart there is a kind of uneasiness
 
and in the dark night when the stars are shining
it’s as if I can see my father beckoning in the distance
 
as if my days of rollicking and jolliness
has brought me to a time of deep regret
 
and I know that I have got to go back,
to be accountable to my father
 
and my heart feels heavy-laden while I walk the last bit of the way,
can hear blue thunder roaring in the distance
 
and in the rain my farther stands waiting
like only a farther can, for a child that comes out of the night.






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