Hazy View Poem by Niki Nicholas Nkuna

I'm wide awake in the sphere of my capability,
Hazy brain, Hazy vision,
I manoeuvre in the sphere of my capability,
Wobbling and falling,
My mother's hands, my trestle and guide,
I'm wide awake in the sphere of my age,

Out of all I see, I see my mother clear,
My eyes and brain stretched,
To fathom maternal teachings,
I see through the mist all things,
And people around me,
My mother always in the clear,
Clad in angelic white dress,
I'm wide awake in the sphere of my height,

I hear so many voices around me,
Some melodic, some monotonous,
All meaningless to my brain capability,
Their smiles louder than their singing,
Unlike my mother's lullaby song,
Louder, clear and fathomable to tender age,
Only in her presence,
Do I see clearly with my insipid brain,
I began to smile back to the apparitions,
Sometimes laughing like a shaken teddy bear,
I'm wide awake in the sphere of my brain,

My excitement belie understanding,
Of what's happening around me,
My laughter camouflage my poor,
Attentiveness all the time,
Laughing at nothing like nutting,
Becoming a joke in the face of clarity,
I'm awake in the sphere of my attentive level,

In some environments my small eyes,
Ears and brain were respected,
I saw nothing and heard nothing,
That could damage my age,
Occasionally I would defy respect,
And got myself hurt,
In the present and long time to come,
Some things my parents let freedom reign,
Letting me see everything,
My brain muddled in the flood of events,
Parents' car taking me to the shop or to church,
Everything else moving backward,
I never understood it and never asked,
Thanks to the years of brain growth,
That coincides with the steadying of the objects,
That moved backwards,
While my parents' car moved forward.

I began to talk, see better,
But with less understanding,
A nuisance I became with my small motor mouth,
Answers I sought but with no patience to hear,
I shot not with shrapnel of bullets but a staccato of bullets,
I became a laughing stalk or a derisive object,
All I heard louder was, puerile,
Knows nothing, stupid, nutting,
Too small to understand,
My small brain became a glutton,
Gulping at everything bitter and sweet,

My reaction clownish assuaging intended pain,
Giggling in hidden places and crying at times,
Being overwhelmed by disregard and aplomb,
Bitten at times for encroaching on forbidden deeds,
My fragile age was to blame all along,
That forced everything to recoil into my tender brain,
It never let loose the ill-gotten contents,
For I'm the only one who held the key,
I'm wide awake in the sphere of my capability,

Inquisitiveness brought me light, thus I cling to it,
Despite the thorny answers I got at times,
Beatings, scolds and chasings, I grew up nevertheless,
Nobody could prevent that,

Reaching adulthood I came to know,
How to distinguish the colours,
What to ask, what not to ask,
And grew up with hidden feelings,
Nevertheless persevere in the storage of goods,
I dispensed the goods with the age of courage,
Received what I bargained for,
Or short changed at times,

Now I'm faced with the same situation,
My mother myself, my parents myself,
I have become, with horror I realised,
Let the tender motor mouths blabber,
I will answer them in the sphere of their brain,
In all respects, small, medium and large,
Now I know they never threw away anything,
That got through their eyes, ears into their brains,
They have small brains but complete in make,
That should be respected like a small car,