Thunderbolt Poem by Gert Strydom

As a child I saw lightning
making blue sparks
on the back porch
and running over the iron rocks
into the old house against the hillock.

I could smell the thunderbolts
and it smacked down, much louder
than a gun
and as a small child
lightning did not scare me
and I walked in the rain
in a thunderstorm.

Until a day
where cattle fell dead around me
and then I got the real significance
of thunder

and now they press a thunderbolt
right into your head
and you are belted down
by people with white coats
who look very clinical,
who look at you from a distance
when they press a lever

who look at your fear and disconcertment
without feeling
and I see that you are still alive
and breathing,
when they push the lever again

and suddenly yesterday is gone
and your brain burnt out by half
and you can remember almost nothing
of your childhood days

and they believe
that you are halfway cured
and there’s a hell of a pain
that I see in your eyes.