Serpent with wings

Whose ‘purity’ contaminates my vision

I am blind and He

He is my sight.



Does not sleepwalk through life

Does not lie on pillows of crushed velvet tears

These trees

A living witness

To the deafening silence

Of a culture eroded

A history maimed

Bodies unclaimed



Still holds me close

Collapsing on my skin

Wrapped around my legs

Maligning my darkened body

Falling over my indigenous soul

His guilt carried on the arch of my back

His fingertips could almost taste me


Is the crimson pool that bathes my ancestors

The injured tongue that imprisons my children

The pervasive eyes that cradle my mother

The superstitious mind that dethrones my legacy


Disavows, denies and disowns

This hollowed earth cannot hold his ego

Nor tame his tongue

Words cannot unteach his truth

His soliloquy is law

His privilege is might

He is blind

And now I,

I must be his sight.