Western Cape Flats // Original poetry by an African
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3rd February 2019
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nice poetry there :)
Glad you think so. I'll try to deliver more.
The whole poem gives me the feeling as if you're fighting in life, making decisions all the time, and as life gets tough, you somehow made it
I appreciate your comment!
I forwarded the post to one of us (the cousin) who is raising her family in Eastern Europe these days. She recalls the day as I do. We're doing our best now as migrants - much like our ancestors did✊
I'm an immigrant in my own country too. 3rd generation. my grandparents came from China and settle down in South East Asia. still striving 💪
Solidarity! I'm a proud African living in Asia, but when I go to my country, I am not considered African. It's pretty heartbreaking to see humanity so far lost in the myre of it's own injuries. We trod onwards as you say. We will make it in the end when our kids thrive and face the challenges as we did.
Yours is an exciting prospect: to be studying your own roots in Beijing China. I wish you all the best. See you at the top, my friend.
Oh yes indeed. See you at the top too !
Original poetry by an African ~ I like that! :)
word ;-)
Wow! So great man, will also follow. Keep up the good work!
I'm happy for the follow - found your comments on the MG at @ackhoo also admire your photographic work! Following you too of course.
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That question at the end...
I love the desolate yet nostalgic feel of this poem. History, even painful history, seems to breed nostalgia in spite of itself sometimes. Your imagery is dramatic and immediate, but also haunting. My people didn't come to the US so long ago that I can't relate to these lines:
"Our adults' heads filled with ineptly concealed
second-guesses, swirling questions
they couldn't put into words,
nor even less answer
As we grew, our heads filled too, like some curse
until here we are, our poorly phrased questions
bearing fewer answers still"
Or to their echo in the final stanza:
"Had they uncoated from this white flat's dust,
slipped the smoothness of the concrete cells
of the corridors of the places of my baptism,
would I now write clear phrases,
or begin to offer questions
and deliver the answers."
What you reference here is so familiar to me from my own experience of growing up in a family of people who essentially still considered themselves to be immigrants, and having to learn, as an adult, to find my way through the morass of half examined and often conflicting assumptions I had inherited, to mercilessly sort through the chests and boxes of sentimental keepsakes and find what was actually useful to me.
Not sure if any of this relates to your poem... but I had fun writing about it ;)
Of course it relates. And it's so exciting to find someone halfway around the planet with whom it resonated so much. It makes writing it all the more worthwhile. So happy to read your comments. Thanks for the compliments and the time you took to ponder over it all and write about as well.
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