I heard the cries of those that had been
here so long ago, cradled in a maddening
place, fathered in deranged love, but they
clasped on the lingering echoes that was
consummated into  a yearning of pain.

Like orphans of death they stemmed from
petals tears absconded upon silent air.
Bleeding inwards they consumed themselves
devouring the darkness within till a frail
echo was left of pearly shards shattering below.

What can be seen when we look within someone?
so many played on these words, where breath
escaped so did the foetal yearning of lingering
life now excavated with each greeting to their
insides now looked upon in confused amazement.

Can you hear the screams of the dead they assign
others to join them in the pleasure of unbridled
bliss. In the maddening of this place a few lucid
thoughts speak forth, momentarily as others not
wishing these words cleft, dissect tongue from mouth.

This place where no one sleeps even in death, silently
wailing in deafening shouts. But they are heard, that
is what the constant chatter of these poor souls mumblings
are dissected from. A circle of deranged figures
feeding the fires of either , can you hear them screaming.

I conspire with ancestors
make a fire of wood
within the dancing flames
I dance with the ancestors
we feel the heat
and share the light
a flame borrowed from the Sun
to dispel the darkness
and we become one
on nights like these
a black sky filled with burning fires
lit down through millennia
from the before of all stars.

On occasion,
I dream about drowning at least once a week
And when I drown
I always expect to choke under the pressure of the ocean
That the salt stings my eyes shut
But I am always surprised at how easily my body sinks
And how buoyant it can be under water
And it makes me think of all the slaves
Who threw themselves overboard
How they thought themselves fish before slave
Did they grow gills?
Were they grateful for the mercy of erosion
Under salt instead of whips
Did they backs bend like dolphins do?
Did they build an underwater city untouched
By brutal hands
Do they know, that I see them sometimes
The ancestors who chose water over land
And they are not bone and marrow stacked
At the bottom of the ocean
They are not corpses who chose the easy way out
I see them
They have built an underwater world from their bare hands
They laugh and bubbles exit out their mouths
Even now my family would not mourn my departure
If I were to be called by the waves
For the water has a language that some
Of us have an ear for
It is not the place of mortals to tear up
When one of us africans drown
Because to sink is to find new life
Is to be in the hands of those who control their own destiny
I know them, the water people
They call me during the night
And i don't fight anymore
I laugh with them, and live
And wake angry that oxygen can suffocate me
That I suddenly become flailing fish
That my home is not this land
That I find comfort in ocean floor
That is where my ancestors speak to me
Console me
Teach me the ways of spiritual healer
At the bottom of the sea
And it is not a dream although I wake from it
It is a reality that is bestowed upon
The xhosa shamans from birth
The western world does not have a reality like that
So they will argue it does not exist
They will be quick to diagnose my mental health
Call the act of reuniting with my own
An episode, a stress indicator
A sleeping pill prescription
These are the same people who believe in
Three day resurrection for death
But cannot fathom an african never dying
And we don’t die
We do not die.
There is life for us elsewhere.
And when we are ready
The waves will welcome us home.