Monthly Archives: August 2019

Die Nuwe Kultuur

Die Nuwe Kultuur

Die traan biggel
gesig wit van vrees
die gil sny deur murg en been
te laat om aksie te neem.

Die voorspellings geïgnoreer
die skrif was aan die muur
polities korrek die nuwe kultuur.

Humanisme
kommunisme
simbolisme.

© Gois

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Ek is nie jammer nie

Ek is nie jammer nie

Ek is nie jammer ek is wit nie
dit was nie my skuld nie.

Ek is nie jammer ek is Afrikaans nie
dit is my moedertaal.

Ek is nie jammer dat ek in die apartheidsjare groot geword het nie
dit het my deernis geleer.

Ek is nie jammer dat ek nog die Unie-vlag wil swaai nie
swaai sal ek hom wel.

Ek is net jammer vir hulle
wat hul geskiedenis verloon en verdraai.

Ek is net jammer vir hulle
wat hul taal hoon.

Ek is net jammer vir hulle
wat te swak is om op te staan.

Ek is veral jammer vir hulle
wat net wil moor
verkrag
steel
en ‘n vloermoer teen Jan van Riebeeck gooi
hulle wat alles mahala wil hê.

© Gois

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Mirror

Through the Looking-glass

Once through
all the hard lines soften
colours become vibrant
rainbows breakup into the plumage of a miriad birds
dreams come true
we live in never land
but…
we are not meant for this
not meant for this…
meant for this…
for this…

this.

© Gois

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The Smouldering

The Smouldering

From deep inside a fire was lit
never before was it there
a racist I never was
but now…
they cut my tongue
trample my language
my flag no more I can wave
injustice in the workplace
I can no longer hide my rage
a racist I never was
but now…
my heritage I shall defend
My Land
Afrikaans
and my flag I shall wave.

© Gois

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Wishings

Wishings

Oh to stand again on the deck
to feel the rise and fall
and smell the salt of the sea,
t’was the wind to fill the sails
and send me flying
to search the adventure
of the seven seas
the stars to guide the mariner in me.

Oh to stand again in the shadow of the forest
to hear again the twitter and tweet
and see the brilliant plumage amongst
the brown and green
the silence and feary-lights at night.

Oh to float upstream on the tide again
navigating the twists and turns of the Breede
silence my only companion
the yellow-green reflection of my kayak
on the dark still.

Oh to stand again in a clearing
neath the hot bushveld sun
to feel the ground tremble
as the grey herds pass
vultures circle in the sky
and the fish eagle cry.

Oh to stand in the centre of my village again
with the children’s cries of “Azungu”
as they dance and prance
a soft beat of an African drum.

Oh to stand again nearly naked in the humid heat
the hothouse floor scrubbed
scattering the pellets for my children
their smell reminding me that I am their mother.

© Gois

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Die Lont

Die Lont

Die alge sal blom
dood in die water bring
pragtig die rooigety
maar gif in die vlees,
wit en swart
soos olie en water
vermeng tot plofbaar
bloed gaan vloei
onkeerbaar die lont.

© Gois

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Van Klip

Van Klip

Ek kyk na die klip
ek weet wat is binne.

Vir twintig jaar
was dit klip
toe vind ‘n blom se wortel ‘n kraakie
dit boor en woel
soekend.

Die klip verbrokkel
ontbloot ‘n hart
vasgevang in ysig winter
versteen in “permafrost”.

Die wortel raak die hart
hart en blom Blom in warm lente vreug
twee jaar groei hul saam
sonskyn lag.

Die blom onttrek haar wortels
pyn en bloed vloei uit die gebroke hart
winter keer terug
ys versteen weer die hart.

Stuk vir stuk pak ek weer klip
verseël dit dig
en so sal dit bly
geen wortel
geen blom
sal weer toegang kry.

© Gois

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Wind-Tale

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My Huisie op die Rots

My Huisie op die Rots

Ek klim rus-rus die kliptrappe
na my huisie op die rots
my hart klop bruisend
die bloed suig-pomp in my ore
so moeg
O so moeg
hoe lank nog
sal ek die pad kan klim
na my huisie op die rots
hoe lank nog…

© Gois

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Nog ‘n Dag

Nog ‘n Dag

Sag-rooi bloei die son die môre in
skakerings van pienk tot geel
word die berge geverf
bo in die blou
roep die visarend sy maat
nog ‘n dag te leef
nog ‘n kans.

© Gois

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