Dreams are like yesterday
and in the night they had all faded away
while all that remain is heartache and pain
and it’s like winds that blow back
...
It seems as if the Creator Himself turned over the mountains
in the Meiringspoort gorges,
as if He had assembled cubes upon each other
with their sharp needles pointing towards heaven.
...
When the soldiers grabbed Your hands,
feet and body with brutal force
and pinned You down upon the cross
and stained their hands and clothes with Your blood
...
When your eyes overflow with tears
and you do question everything to why and what
I realise that you want to turn around,
that you want to break free
...
As if killed, turned on its own back,
the serpent lies motionless, as if asleep
while something in the black eyes glow
while its measuring spitting, striking distance,
...
I saw it whispering, suddenly hissing,
with its waving big head drawn somewhat back
it was looking deadly, ready to attack;
just moments before it was uncoiling,
...
Her web gleams like the spokes of a bicycle,
she weaves her own pattern out of her soul
as a decagon that she keeps rolling out,
out of her inner silver shiny pivot
...
When your heart leaks
of sadness like a broken clay vessel
and words of people just leave potsherds
and everything that you did believe
...
Far and as wide as the eye can see
lays the valleys, between the acacia trees,
the rock faces and the hillocks
of the Waterberg Mountains
...
Like a lonely sentinel
the windmill towers over the flat escarpment
of the northern Free State,
drawing water deep out of the earth
...