Progressing by quotidian,
In those buttressed
Mountains,
With scaliness rocks,
And wounds,
That are towns,
And cities for lizards,
And rock rabbits.

Trees squashed and,
Squeezed.
There standing,
A sequestered,
Crumbing shack.

Dots of grass,
Celebrating,
It's glorified crown,
Centuries back.

Tears of scattered,
Stones from lonely
Graves behind its back.

This shack is a shield,
To a desclined
Man.

Beating a bursting,
Soundlike drum,
Singing good tunes,
Like a wundutule,
Praying for a windy
Day in a daybreak.

His feets like hooves of a bull.
White long and weak,
Beards,
Clinging his chin.
Gray dusty hair,
Dragging his had,
Behind his pinky
Pale body.

Skin directly clothing,
His sharp body Borns.

Finally his daily hyms and sounds
Ceased to exist,
For a day.
Silent for a month,
And missed for a year.

Only to witness numberless,
Mourning and concerned,
Community members.

Ripping earth open,
Putting a fleshless,
White skull,
With two ribs.

And a man of God,
Glowing inside a black suit.
Uttering same,
Words repeatedly,
"God gives ,God takes!
© Kwanele Khumalo