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After Ventersdorp,4 April 2010

In storm language the wind talks
blind full of thunder
that draws blue lines
over the tar road
and the Jacarandas wriggle,
washing on balconies are jerked
and now angry
the wind howls and cries
and I see lightning bolts
slamming down near the Union Buildings.

Rows of maize fields greet me
where the knobs stand green
and there’s no peace
coming from the greeting

and in vain is waited on the murdered farmer
and somewhere there are cattle bellowing
but not for long anymore
as the slaughterers
are sharpening their Panga-blades

and have already violated the farmer
his wife and daughter,
have stolen what they can
and nobody can stop the plunder and pillage
of the country
as a swarm of locust are descending.

poem by Gert Strydom
Added by Poetry Lover
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