A mending season/ After The War
Natalia Molebatsi
A mending season
for miriam tlali 1.11.33—24.02.17
you are a song
singing in the deepest
voice of my people
a lullaby cusping tears
an amandla song
to every child of the storm
someone said that you
are the wind beneath
the broken wing of my people
another one said
that women like you
are the mending season of our aching
women like you give and give and give
their last breath to ignite fires called revolution
even when they force-fed you the rules of silence
you fought for your story to be told
in the season of your voice and inside your body
reside the melodies of your people
you with an uncontainable wail
that grew louder and larger
than the tight grip of oppression
with words that forced open
the doors of a world that was never
and will never be ready for our kind
it’s time now for moon to night you
with your secret conversations
and moments of endearment
the same moon that will welcome you
on an orbit of black magic
woman wonderments
you will let this world know
that you loved her more
than she loved you
how do i thank you for your pain?
your banned and jailed
and unacknowledged dreams?
your dreams gifts to my bag of memories
through which i will craft songs
for tomorrow’s healing
Published in New Daughters of Africa edited by Margaret Busby
after the war
after the war,
what do we do
with the guns
and the machetes?
after the war,
when the men
and the boys return
what do we do
with the guns
and the machetes?
do we toss them
into the deepest of pits
never to see them
surface again?
or do we keep them,
intact, just in case?
after the war,
what do we do
with the guns
and the machetes?
when the men
and the boys are torn
and worn and dead
what do we do,
with the guns
and the machetes?
do we melt them
onto our walls
as amulets?
or do we pass them on
to next brother or stranger?
just in case
we need another war
after this one
