I wish
I could write this poem in verses that do not age
Sing this song in melodies that echo through the ages …
Like the words of a dying man on the tongues of the living
Speak a sorrow that returns every season like rain
Like the rage that rumbles in the belly of the earth
A primal bellyache that breeds volcanoes and earthquakes
– Harry Garuba “Memorial Wish”
From Animist Chants and Memorials: Poems (2017)
If poems were wishes on paper
Then let’s fold these pages of poems
So that they fly like origami birds to the future
To comfort those with wounds.
If prose were wishes on paper
Then let’s make scrolls from papered prose
Send word missiles all over the planet
So that our whispers come to blows with our foes
Who swindle our futures and our fates
in skyscrapers and on vanity trips in spaceships
Where the rich reach out to other worlds
While plagues and poverty wreak havoc on Earth.
Will our words win the day or wander
like wise men through deserts and harmattan, wind and rain
Stirring the rage of rivers — of which you speak —
That will cleanse this land?
And how shall we succeed
When we are known only to talk in tongues
Amid the shekere and the humming of the talking drums.
Gazing at the sky, stealing a smile,
Thinking of laughter and of love.
For a poem is an understudy of reality.
Where we learn our lines and enact stories of peace
That will give voice to us when we cannot speak
Bring life to us when we no longer breathe
And when we leave, as you did,
turning on your heel, crossing a city street,
the wind following your tall silhouette
freely like a dream.
Lisa Combrinck
National Language Services, Department of Sport, Arts and Culture, Pretoria, South Africa