Thursday, March 29, 2012

The Pilgrim Confesses:

He’s generous, I was told
Our maai-baap, our anna-daata
He listens to everyone, I was told
I must visit him, I was told
I was told this is the way to his palace.

I stand here, on the threshold of this unseen door
For more than a century, or perhaps two, I’ve lost the count
On the threshold of this unseen door, beyond which lies
The promises, the manifestation of the stories I was told
I wait, for what I do not know.

Caravans after caravans pass me by
Every hour of the day
I guide them, show them the entrace to the
Unseen door; they cross the threshold and
Disappear, and arrives another caravan.

Between this coming and going, the travellers,
Weary and hopeful, invite me to join
In their journey to the other side
I cannot, why I do not know
(You must be alone, I was told).

I stand
On the threshold
I’m alone and
I cannot cross the door.

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