Grey Poem by Gert Strydom

Dull grey the winter drags on,
so slowly
as if never there will be an end to it.

In the mornings it’s biting cold
with black frost that destroys where it falls
and sometimes there are clouds of fog
that tries to blot out places, things and times.

Early in the mornings the dogs howl in melancholy
where they lie on their beds
on the porch under a roof
since they are prohibited from the house,
both cats sneak slowly into the room
not welcome any more in the whole house
and the rascal bird with its red head
and green body
knocks on the big window
as if it’s playing the tick-tock game,

the grass stays dead yellow
and stick onto shoes
and everywhere are treaded in
and most of the flowers in the garden
has already died
and now has only the colour of death,
although I am still faithfully
spraying water onto them

and it is as if I am now also loosing faith,
not knowing anymore if there’s a God
who cares about me, as if other things
constantly keeps Him busy
so that He never shows up for me

while my love relationship sink into nothing,
while I out of heart keep on looking for a job
and another man’s wife
tries to make eyes at me

and I see evil flowering everywhere around me
where I stand in the middle,
between good and evil
and about me the grey land stretches out wide.