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.