Sunday, 4 November 2012

Mr Windmill

Image by SueAnn


In rural Transkei

Roads winding uphill
The dust attacking my weak chest
I see a windmill for the first time
And all is forgotten
My young mind is enchanted by your serenity
Eyes wider than the familiar saucers
“You are never in a hurry are you Sir?”, I say
The boys pump tirelessly though with much effort
And I watch and wonder if he too drank of your spoils
If he played in the mud of your pools
He was a good man wasn’t he?
The kettle boils and all I see is your wheel turning
Blades vividly cutting through the wind
Little did I know
His own wind had been cut  
And I was there to lay his soul to rest
Rest in Peace Old Man

Its rural Transkei yet again
I see another windmill in the horizon
I’m older now and can’t wait to look you through
Your sultry motions entrance me
In my mind’s eye I touch your blades
Feeling each one as if to seek answers
I know you have the answers I seek
You wind away, going about your business as usual
Your head in the sky but your spirit down low
They live off you, the crops would be nothing without you
I watch the crops sway with the wind
The cattle drinking from puddles at your feet
The village women with calabashes and buckets on their heads
Laughing wildly as the climb the hill home
You fuel their livelyhood
You are a blessing and that cannot be denied
You seem to bow at me with dignity that cannot be told
I build an alliance with you in a whisper
You row faster with the wind
And I know we have an allegiance
When I see you again I will shed a different tear

If only you could speak to me
I have questions for you
I wonder if you’re the Grim Reaper  
Every time I see you
I know I have to lay a loved one to rest on Sunday
You give life
But death seems to follow you closely behind
Rest  in Peace Uncle

Candy Morrow
My offering for @dVerse Poets tonight, Brian Miller at the handle..  I chose the windmill because it spoke to me once in a lifetime.  Thank you SueAnn and Brian.
My first two encounters with the windmill  in parts of rural Transkei, I was a child then..and death seemed to loom where the windmill gave life.
                                                                                                                             


12 comments:

  1. dang....wow...everytime you see one you lay someone to rest...that is a bit haunting...really this is well paced...enchanting story telling as you wind away...felt piece candy...

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  2. Thanks Brian.. we hardly went deep into the rurals, everytime we went it was for that purpose. A family member would've passed. we visit sometimes, but they have been replaced by tap water.I do miss the calm of the blades.

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  3. This is lovely offering seen in the eyes of the child, now as an adult burying a loved one ~ I specially like the windmill's role in the second stanza, but still as a grim reaper, this is quite an image ~

    Happy weekend ~

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  4. Thanks Grace..
    I pray your weekend is filled to the brim with blessings.

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  5. Don't ever see me by a windmill ... But in asking that small favor, I say this was an awesome write, It had the feel of being translated from another language to english, something I am familiar with as I have to do it often. But even if it is isn't, the voice had a european, old world flavour to it. I enjoyed it much.

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  6. Haunting and enchanting prose poetry - love this

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  7. Thank you for your kind comments. The rural Transkei is in South Africa, this is where I grew up. The native venecular being IsiXhosa and IsiMpondo.

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  8. Wow, fascinating. I had to look up the South African story behind Transkei -- interesting.

    by the way =-- you have CAPTCHA turned on (word ID to filter submissions) -- you might want to consider turning off. Lots of folks at blogspot don't know they have it turned on. It is a bit of a pain.

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  9. I don't even know what that is? Is it in my settings?

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  10. Every time I see you
    I know I have to lay a loved one to rest on Sunday
    You give life
    But death seems to follow you closely behind

    This is ambivalence with a capital C, is it not? Makes me wonder how you would look upon him. You have given us much to ponder - as any fine poem must.

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  11. I'm humbled Mr King. I would reason with him, and pray he has a heart of gold and not steel.

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  12. I'm humbled Mr King. I would reason with him, and pray he has a heart of gold and not steel.

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