by Lynette Bothma

 

 

They’re all monsters when you see them

Man, woman and child

Demons in darkness when you meet them

For the very first time.

Jagged jaws and gaping eyes

Sharp cleft noses meeting

Acid lips of warded faces

True monsters of Mother’s making

From the sullen depths;

Until you happen upon

Hearing the sound of dry lips tearing

And flakes of misery falling

Each too true to the very meaning,

And feel the tears of the memories that

Whet the blades which

Cut their every step.

Only then will you start seeing

A human kind of being

Hidden inside what living

So obscurely bent.

 

 


Photo credit: Wolfz Gallery, African Collection