I am the broken dream
of the sloppery porter.
A vase that never survived
the spitting furnace fires.
The clay that cracked
at Man’s man-handles of mould.
Some riverside thought,
washed away by the sweeping rains, never created.
I am the seed that never got to see it’s flower bloom.
Gone a short summer too soon.
The shelter that could offer no security…warmth…cover
— my heart.
Uprooted with our home,
and left me in this haunted house,
Where nothing rattles me more than my thoughts.
When the winds came I caved in.
Thoughts of how I journey through life
On a constant adventure of the unknown.
Where even my own perception of myself
Has been left distorted by how I continue to be left feeling how I am truly estranged,
An unwelcome guest within the confines of what used to be my humble abode.
I’m a stranger around familiar walls that whisper commands of eviction,
Under-breath chants of…
Soft whispers of…
Gentle shivers from…
Subtle quivers from…
Shattering outbursts of the deafening silence.
Home has become a ghost of spirits ascended,
Of what I probably thought to life,
Of what ‘reality’ has continued to have me believe is what it should be,
All I had was a glimpse into what a misconception I had fallen into the deception of.
Could it be gullibility?
Falling into the trap of believing something to be,
Just to fill that void of a missing feeling of belonging, arriving.
“When my house forgives my heart for plundering its walls, we will be home.”
(C) 2016. Phila Dyasi. Nonkululeko Anicia Khumalo. All rights reserved. Intellectual property of authors.