Thursday, 12 September 2019


I often feel offended when I get rejected
By servants and subjects of this course,
For discourse promotes senses hidden behind scars and wisdom
Of a bruised heart and tears of the afflicted,
Like fountains in the sacred desert sands of the Kalahari
As they sprinkle their last tear drop in days of drought in diaries and pages
Of their memories. I am just an orphan—
A vulnerable child without traces of their human,
I am just an orphan;
For villages have images of my descendants,
My ancestors and forefathers of their grandparents,
My own person, a child of the sun and basket,
The basket that my own mother’s hand crafted
From palm tree leaves planted by nature’s own servants,
With black, bold and brown or purple blue grey colors of their basket,
I am just an orphan—
An orphan who’d often sing songs unknown from the heart of the moon,
To caress my ears with echoes of my heart beat. And you—
Dear other, the true navigator of word and sound behind the full moon…

Onalethuso Petruss Buyile Ntema, 12092019-1451
The Voice of a Shadow: Life, Reality and Mental Inspiration poetry anthology

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