Member-only story
Baleka (RUN)!
My armless legs carried my body to the finish line
that my spent will had given up on already, prior to the bell ring.
Dehydrated and devoid of energies, in need of divine moving waters,
the very same which springs out of me, that pours from pores out of me.
You see, my mum and Uncle Siya’ are but blurry snapshots in the fading distance.
Sights of surroundings all in doubles, from fatigue.
But the running winds carried their vibrant vuvuzela voices,
a vote-of-confidence goes from ear-drum down, in my heart the beats found rhythm,
the art of ululating our praise songs and proclaiming proudly our clan names,
sung and said boldly, megaphone manner with the tenor and a Brenda Fassie cadence.
And so I drew the sap for the last lap from branchy wells of my dry back.
My bony chest having troubles caging an ambitious and a hopeful, this palpitating ticker.
Today’s high-jump is the rise of an amputated grasshopper, the leap of an injured springbok.
