Poetry

There is something earthly about you
where you are planting a bush of yellow marigolds,
around you the wind blows,
in bright hot sun
and I smell the Moondrops perfume
coming from your neck, face and hair.
 
The grass and ground are like your eyes,
your blouse and skirt are moss-green
and between us there is a comfortable silence
where along the palisades
we are removing weeds and grass shoots.
 
In the distance I see the chimneys
of Impala Platinum
that shines like quicksilver
where as always
white smoke is going into the air
 
and as on every Friday
in the distance alarms are ringing
one after the other
 
but the silence between us
say more than words
and I press my nose into your hair,
embrace you for a moment,
see the four-by-four of the neighbour pulling in
while his dogs are barking excitedly
 
and I smell rain and sunflowers
and are tied to this country
and feel how vulnerable you are,
 
red and pink Iceberg-roses are flowering
brown, yellow, blue and white irises,
marigolds and geraniums of every colour
and the garden is a wonderland in the sun.