White Othello

Gone, I am weary of the unseen
If it becomes known
As if I would be disowned?

We loll in bed
Like night and day
Until noontime

Thou desire elope all tragic ends,
come , shall, come

And what of the kin ? They will always be unaware
And always be there.

She had moon eyes, seen from the
Outskirts of the deep oceans,
rival those of Queen Makeda dynastīa
When she blinked people ogled.
It was like a cloud walking past the sun
But their eyes glistened when she yawned too
Alas, they will never see her
The kin did daily tasks
Roaming around her as always,
Until King Solomon arrived at their doorstep,
And asked for her hand,
Maybe heart too.

They put the mat on the sand.
The father and elderly tribe locked hands.
Five camels and two bags of gold later
She was his and no longer alone

My grandmother and I
Sat under the light shade of a tree and she began:

Before my time there was a Queen
Who sprouted a birthmark on her face – just on the cheeks
At first, but she watched it every day
And wore her woven hood low to hide
A paint mark of unassuming nature

But a Queen, of course, never washes her own hair
Her women-maid knew to well about the queen’s pain
And day by day thoughts grew
Inside her, a-letter-or –word
A sad secret that had to be spoken
With her dark circled lips

They listen, you’re mistaken
She said

They said even dead souls can’t keep secrets.
She said, huh

There were folks who dreamed of such talk
But she slept on a bed of burning ground.

Then, on dawn-break, she could feel it no more
Her feet took flight like the morning light through the trees,
She ran to the end of the light shade
Under the tree, she dug and whispered to the
Earth and whispered her secret
“Queen Makeda has a birthmark”,

Do not disrupt my grandmother says
Taking her tree bark, placing it between her teeth
And her kohl circled lips.

To Dunedin, and part way back



When father called
To say he will take another wife
He dialled a bullet to mother’s heart

Mama threatened to burn down,
The house he shall build with ugly goat.

Mama booked a flight
That never took off.

Now that you divorced mama
Seven children,
Two grandchildren

Now that you are alone
Who will carry your name?
And write your epitaph.

Eviction

Standing outside my rented porch
Reading letters and lighting a cigarette
Are intertwined thoughts, natural?

A seal in a suit, bushy brow sprouting,
Over his Nordic forehead,

Coal voice howls,
“There is no grey area”
What on earth was he on about?

Early thinking and you standing outside my door
“Is really not called for”, she says

There were no fits of emotions
Thrown in the air, yet the lanky
Pot plants of next door
Continuously stare