Modise shrinks into the darkest shadow...
At the angry shouting, stumbling and cursing:
Ta demands food - thunderous his brow!
He carefully removes his watch... Now searching....
He brings down an empty tin can on Ma's head:
Bang, Bang, Bang, now give my food to me!
Modise did not cook the pap; there is no bread -
Their last Induna was swopped for the BB.
Modise, like dough on a stick. Modise,
A rope, with knots for knuckles and knees
And his shadow like a bent-over, crooked D:
He has never heard thank you, nor please.
In his shadow he's awaited peace in passed-out rest:
Ma lying spread-eagled on her bundled blanket...
He covers her clumsily, somewhat, with her Sunday best.
The Ta in tie and jacket is snoring on the bed.
Modise gently wraps the baby in Ma's other attire
At the ashes he patiently strings onion rings
On a green stick to fry, tula-tula he softly sings
As some of the conca eyes still shine with hopeful fire.
Copyright(c) HC Meintjes
At the angry shouting, stumbling and cursing:
Ta demands food - thunderous his brow!
He carefully removes his watch... Now searching....
He brings down an empty tin can on Ma's head:
Bang, Bang, Bang, now give my food to me!
Modise did not cook the pap; there is no bread -
Their last Induna was swopped for the BB.
Modise, like dough on a stick. Modise,
A rope, with knots for knuckles and knees
And his shadow like a bent-over, crooked D:
He has never heard thank you, nor please.
In his shadow he's awaited peace in passed-out rest:
Ma lying spread-eagled on her bundled blanket...
He covers her clumsily, somewhat, with her Sunday best.
The Ta in tie and jacket is snoring on the bed.
Modise gently wraps the baby in Ma's other attire
At the ashes he patiently strings onion rings
On a green stick to fry, tula-tula he softly sings
As some of the conca eyes still shine with hopeful fire.
Copyright(c) HC Meintjes
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