The Time I Never Lived

It was raining blows.
It was mincing words.
It was bouncing on me.
It was grinding me.
It was bashing me.
It was painting me.
The whip of her words
Turning me this way and that,
Pushing me away always.

Now I am gone to the place.
I squat there like a life.
I speak in mumbles.
The darkness answers me.
Yes keep breathing
You will be free,
For you were born free
To jump and laugh loud
And tell the stories of people
Whose minds were messed up
Like yours, scrambled up
And poured on the frying pan of time.

Tomorrow comes to kiss your forehead
The sunlight comes to massage you
With the hand of so smooth,
So warm, so right handed
Its handling is a holy caress,
For the angels are listening,
To every groan in your heart,
Their messages to you are real.
It will be better tomorrow.

You will not believe the healing.
It is real like reels of cotton
Inside a bobbin of a machine,
That wields itself on as the wheel turns
This pain that walks as tall
As the spoken word of yore
That still hammers on your temples,
And stop you from not forgiving,
And tell you to stretch your hand,
For giving is all you can do,
To takers who always reach out,
And swallow the air in gulps,
Not knowing it never gets finished,
It was there, to be there into forever,
Until they go to the place of reckoning,
Where they sleep soundly and noisily,
Not knowing what they did with words
Working for a mean master who hired them
Never to pay them anything at all.

For the harshness of their hands
That bewitched the world with hurt,
The smacking and spanking resounds
As they worked for hours in the field
Where they planted the seed of hate
Of the innocents who became abusers
Unknowingly having seen only blows,
Come down in torrents like fire,
Pouring out of a volcano,
To turn into a tar of psychosis,
That envelopes the world,
And brings sadness to everybody,
Who happens to come across it,
On this path, this adventure,
Of eyes staring at another pair,
Not blinking but yelling,
The history of their seeing,
In the bodies of the abused.

by Sarah Mkhonza

Comments (22)

the angels are listening, To every groan in your heart, Their messages to you are real. It will be better tomorrow. The history of their seeing, In the bodies of the abused. painful. sorrowful........ failure to see the holiness and fineness in a physical union and in real love.......... very fine poem using such expressive words coinages. thank u dear poetess. dev
I know the scenario as I have read Uncles Tom Cabin translated in oriya.Now all are free. that time has gone. Slavery was on all lines viz, castes in India, colour, gender.We should have a forum of poets to fight all kinds of inequality and abuse.The digital world has offered us an opportunity never given in the past.Good poem
More Powerful Than I Could Ever Say! ! ! ! ! Very Heart Felt Words In Every Way! ! ! ! ! Deeply Moving! ! ! ! ! Excellently Voiced! ! ! ! ! Thank You So Very Much For Sharing This! ! ! ! ! Ever Ever So Very Many 10S! ! ! ! ! +++++ Congratulations On Poem Of The Day! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
//It was raining blows...frying pan of time...pain that walks as tall.// I wish to word like you, Sarah. It's a good time encountering your fresh and new way of wording. Thanks for this piece, poetess. I'm glad I came around.
Slavery and abusive masters is a painful dark chapter of human history. A wonderful poem that takes us to that dark abyss to feel the sorrow and anger and pain of those who lived it. Congratulations and thanks for sharing.
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