Afzal Moolla
South African Poet who writes for people listening while working with non-fiction and the occasional novel.
This is a part of a larger epic poem
1.
Hidden between fragmented shades,
mingling within the folds of thought.
Dreams ceaselessly wander on,
soaring above the day's tumult.
Hope burns the fabric of today,
as this afternoon fades.
2.
The immigrant.
Seeking solace.
Seeking a home.
The immigrant finds,
Rotten prejudice.
Fungal anger.
The immigrant,
alone, hoping for,
A solitary chance.
To belong.
The immigrant,
alone, always,
An outside entity.
Eternal outcast.
A viral threat.
A reeking odour.
The immigrant,
ever alone,
and alone knowing,
that no place exists,
but that lost home.
3.
Searching.
Searching in the debris of the past,
scraps of casually discarded emotion.
Searching,
in hastily trashed yesterdays,
an inkling of moments flung away.
Searching,
in heaps of rubbished words,
that tiresome sigh of defeated thought.
Searching,
in the layers of moulted skin
the wilting self that once was true.
Searching,
in the reflections between the ripples,
for the whispered pangs of roaring desire.
Searching,
in the blank eyes streaming endlessly,
an echo of the faintest sigh of new life.
Searching.
