Since a year ago
He left for Johannesburg, the city of gold
To look for work.
Drought had overwrought the village.
No greenery, no food, nothing.
Hunger had slowly crept in.
Poverty was the last name of his family.
And he took a decision;
He had to stand up as a man
To provide for his old and frail mother and siblings.
They never knew their father
And he was his family’s last hope.
He said his goodbyes
And off, in the early hours he went, in pursuit of
greener pastures.
Now, it’s been over a year
Since he departed and since his family saw him
They haven’t heard from him
“He probably got engulfed by the big city and its
beautiful women,
And forgot about us,” said the old woman.
Little did they know he never reached the capital
Nor the taxi rank to take him there.
It was a robbery gone wrong
By two amateur thieves who wanted a quick buck
And he was buried in a shallow grave
On a deserted field right there in his hometown
For months they resented and were angry at him
Not knowing he was no more
Their light of the family has been destroyed and
diminished
This family is sheathed in dark clouds, unkowingly.
Misfortune lingers in the air
A generational curse has begun: A cycle of poverty
that will be too difficult to break.
For many more years to come.