HOME

home
(for the Timbila poets)

to me home is:

in the cry of orphans
in the spontaneous laughter of children
in the taste of sweat & tears
in the hunger pains of children
in the dried out breasts of mothers
in the smell of paraffin stoves
in the sticky loins of whores
in the noisy corners of taverns
in the riqouchet of a gangster’s bullet
in a hospitalbed after a taxi accident
in the smell of burning flesh
in the excitement of a toyi-toyi
in the smelly armpits of the homeless
in the politics of sports
in the kiss of dagga-darkened lips
in the stroke of nicotine-stained fingers
in the treatment of an action campaign
in the poverty that causes aids
in the curse of colonialism
in the vacant stare of a hijack victim
in the perfume of buchu
in the passion of lovemaking
in the aching of muscles after sex
in the smokey lounge of a jazz club
in the sermon of an evangelist
in the speech of an african dictator
in the (un?)fairness of an election
in the gnawing doubts of hearts
in the unspeakable pain of rape
in the cowardess of macho men
in the vulnerability of rain
in the stench of a rubbish bin
in the beer bellies of politicians
in the ting tang of coins in a beggar’s tin
in the hand-outs of bush and blair
in the hype of a multi-billion corruption saga
in the voice of the angry dead
in the solace of drugs, crime and wine
in the hands of a tired mother

to me home is… AFRICA