Her Hands

UKhulu, My beloved grandma, still she works.

She rises with the sun, to clean our home; sweep the yard; make heaps from the grass cuts and pile up trimmings from the windbreaker tree.
The wobbly wheelbarrow, from years of slaving, is filled to the top.
And off to the pit-hole I will push, to the fire-spitting-flames that she has already tendered to.

Tirelessly she labours, with not a bit spared to a break,
Her backbone bent and straightened every semi-second,
For as long as I’ve lived and much longer before.

Midday struck with its ultra-solar
But her sunlit face always to the ground never showing strain or beat.
We escape the scorching elements and seek shade in the veranda.

Well I do. Her hands hands-on, curtains off the wall.
No time spent sitting around.
Sheets to be ironed,
Garden to be done,
Toilet to be cleaned,
And outside windows to be mirror screens.
The spirit of a slave. The soul of a light in a cave. The grand grandma.

Those early hours, barely slept, to heat the waters as warm as your love.
Breakfast by the bed-side,
A sprinkle of care & kindness in every bowl I tasted with my being.

My Childhood Home  was
and remains you. 
The source of strength.
I thank you for my life. 
I thank the Lord for yours. 
May you live forever!

There is always something someone must do, 
and the work is never done…

(C) 2016. Phila Dyasi. All rights reserved. Intellectual and ARTistic property of author. Don’t bite! | Writings and the other things…mostly experimental writing. UMamBhele madoda. Intombi yokugqibela ka MaMasango, uMaSobuwa ongasekoyo emhlabeni.

#love   #work   #temple   #grandmother  #nublaccsoul   #socialcommentary  #gaaahdbody   #umndeni   #izandla  #usapho  

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Author: NuBlaccSoul

...writings & the other things

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