My Diary September 2014 0nwards

 

klip/stone

 

I must be stoned

het seker n klippie in my kop

ek gaan nou

in beide tale skryf

afriengels

so to speak

en uit die vuis vertaal

komaan ek weet

I know too well

most safricans

understand

my

mother tongue

sommige igroneer dit

others are politically entitled

en die klippe?

I borrowed them

ses klippe

a stone stack

my mind is full

I morn silently

a friend died

en ja, is klaar vergeet

fiends?

vriende so genaamd

is hulle rerig

what will they write

on your last stone

wat gaan jou grafskrif se

if they

your friends

had to write it

Ek gee hulp

se net

hy het geleef

He lived

is all I need

on that one

Two other friends

FB friends

Foeta and Barend

borrowed me the pic

nie rerig nie

ek gaps hom

they wrote a story

met voete en sweet

they travelled Africa

mey blerrie busse en taxi.s

public transport

and told a

beautifull story

n prentestorie

van formaat

and it tells me

they lived

hulle leef

dis al

finis

may peace and love

travel with you

 my brothers and sisters

for life

amen

doulos

 

 20/20

 

 Frequently mentioned Blue Whale

that was recorded at 52 Hertz

is causing a stir

again

Maybe he is the Whale God

He calls but

no one answers

but humans do

and therein

lies the conundrum

we also do not

hear our God

but we hear the whale

and do not know

whether

He/she/it

hears us

we call it

prayer

meditation

etc.

I have a

hearing impairment

my signals are confused

so yes I hear you

and no I do not

for I do not

hear certain words

correctly

the human

audio spectrum

20Hz to 20kHz

is known

but the slightest

interference

can cause havoc

like a tiny tear

in an eardrum

I was

contemplating life

as we often do

only when someone

we know dies

and I

felt a pang

of kinship

with that whale

I Call

frequently

and sometimes

I cry out

in despair

and it seems

to fall

on deaf ears

Friends are few

when u r down

and excuses abound

so yes

I remember

every one

that crossed my path

those I hurt

and those

who hurt me

those I loved

and those who loved me

peace and love be with you

my brothers and sisters

and creatures great and small

forever

amen

doulos

 

 

 sorrow

I drive over the bridge

and a flock of birds

"bless" my car

huge blotches

of yellow stuff

entering Nigel

on a mission

brings sorrow

first the

T-junction

running dead

into the cemetery

e\where she rests

my mother

a woman of sorrow

she gave her all

she suffered

in silence

and now

on entering this town

my mood darkens

I am going

to a funeral

first I visit

a wise old man

I know and love

he is always

the same

intelligent,witty

and wise

I tell him

I am visiting

my stepdad next

not knowing

he is already

buried

I know not where

she is there

in Nigel cemetery

at least

her remains

are there

she is

in heaven

fighting back

for her children

her faith

and strength

and perseverance

and selflessness

allows her

I love

you Moeks

Peace and love be with you

my brothers and sisters

forever

amen

doulos

 

 

mara

 

She was tiny, not much

taller than my army boot .

She took to me,

many little ones does.

I do not know why

She left an imprint

within me,

one that cannot

be eroded by time

tiny tot

Khoisan orphan.

I endured the Army

had to,

as much as I endured

an East Rand Dorp.

and it was

easy to dust them off

my feet

and show them

my heels.

Little Mara

remained in my mind

Her parents both died

in a landmine explosion

In Namibia.

He father was a soldier

at the Omega  Base

in the Caprivi Strip.

My memory falters,

must be 1979-1981.

The SANDF

looked after little

Mara.

So yes I intend

to find her

or her descendants.

Why?.

I owe it to the

imprint she made on me

as a young man.

because we are kin

we are hueman

peace and love be with you

my brothers and sisters

huemen all

forever

amen

doulos

 

 

 Boer

     Photo David Goldblatt

It saddens me

the fact that I let go

of my Afrikaner identity

I isolated myself

evaded my kin

because of

personal circumstance

I write English

speak the same

my child speaks

Afrikaans with a

beautifully original accent

now I am

re discovering my roots

my love for the Taal

I am a late developer

archaic in fact

too scared to  venture

out of my internalised exile

I have some great

journalists to thank

most would have forgotten me

they are legends of the Taal

names that would be

remembered

I knew some of them

worked with them

and then disappeared

into my own little microcosm

now I  enjoy them

on social media

amazed at their expert

handling of my mother tongue

it is bitter sweet,

this realisation

I will savour it

and slowly but surely

with baby steps

is shall relearn

the use of my own language

it is like losing a limb

and learning to cope

without it

if you do not try

you remain handicapped

so I am

"befriending" some of them

on Face Book and

note with glee

that they "accept" me

Met my hart

vasgestik op my hempsmou

en al

liefde en vrede,wees met julle

my broers en susters

geesgenote almal

verewig

 amen

doulos