The terror of a nightmare
Sweat on one’s forehead
Shakes through the spine
Afraid to rise or go back
To sleep.
Terror for the artist
Rattles his soul
Profoundly
Great works of art with
An after shake-guide
The artist’s hand
That holds the tools for
His art.
There are deep terrors
In every heart buried
Like memorial kernels
Deep down
Just like fynbos-seeds
Buried by ants to survive
Annual bushfires
Come back to new life
Again.
The terror followed
By fresh life
Africa of the South
The poet still shaken
By memories of forceful
Removal of his art and his
Library: 1200 books.
A nightmare of the meanest
Kind
As it cut his deepest wound
Into his artist’s innermost
Scars that never heal.
SCARS.SRACS
zoltanzelan
ZJG-POetry’20