Garth Rakumakoe

Ngwana Mama

These misfit puzzle pieces

of awkward childhood memories

to this day, leave me to ponder

from time to time, questions

I could never answer

about us, questions

whose tears I can only restrain

from flooding, but could never



Tell me  - Are you not

my mother\'s child?

Did you not prepare

the womb for me?

Did I not carry this baton

of life over, from your gentle palm?

Why then, does the air we breathe

always feel at odds between us?

What exactly, unsettles it?


Are you not cut from the same

umbilical chord, that became mine?

Sister mine, do we share an unspoken lie

or did I suckle the same nipple

you left behind?

Why then, did your trail fade

with the misty meadow?

When did you disappear

before me? And will you ever return?


See, missing what we should be

though vividly I recall 

your silent resentment

I was a child, as were you

and I cannot say why

ours resembles an ever dying flower

on an eternal winter, why

we are scattered, torn pieces

of what was once a letter

from home - I cannot say     


Does it matter - should it matter

who my, or your father, is?

If that\'s what it\'s about

Should our needing each other

not surpass that?

Who is to blame?

And what existence will blame

afford our offspring, outside these islands

we\'ve helped build, and let garner mass?

Are you not my mother\'s child?


Why are we so apart?

Why is it so hard to forge

a bond of blood?

That child in me has to accept

but does not understand why

I am not your true keeper

for though you are far away

hand in glove

you are still a gift to me