Siyawela
Contours flow like fingerprints Of spent lead meandering across a page: Named by those who found them. They migrate to passes in the kloofs, Follow the hoof and paw prints of animals, Over a tumbling Crocodile River Or buzzcut open plains. Sometimes they are hidden by arms of acacias, Where the ghosts of trogans and louries Bark between mottled leaves: In a spark of daisy-red wings. They weave between solemn stone kraals Forgotten to the trees of time. Picking their way over rocky descents Or the saddle where a mountain meets. Their namesakes are a memory of fineprint Gears and Wyldes and Pimple. Marked with a yellow emblem: A beacon if boyhood adventure. Three thousand footprints, Give or take Have shouldered their dreams Their laughter and reflection Along the Schoemanskloof trails. Because there is truth in the way But also experience when it’s lost.
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ContentSome thoughts about things, sometimes philosophical, sometimes just musings. The world through my eyes... Archives
March 2023
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