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At Swartmodder – I

Moon shining down Upon a lunar landscape Of reds and browns and pinks and blacks and greys and greens Shimmering in the heat Of a thousand ovens Quiver trees stand guard Over vast emptinesses Of sand and rock Hot, burning my hands As I stoop and touch their barrenness, Their wildness and their loneliness I feel as if I am alone With this landscape Nothing exists but us Both blown by the same hot winds Both scorched by the same hot sun Is there any reality but ours? 15/02/1991
Published inAfricaPoem

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