Photo by Valery Rabchenyuk on Unsplash

When it rains

rainfall reminds me of childhood,
of my sister and I excited over a hailing sky

& when it fades away
hail-balls-hand-throw
was an invented sport me and my sister
would play, until they melts off

& later, me and the boys around the village
would head off to the valleys to seek for clay
to make clay cars and clay pots

we would spread ash on our clay objects
my mother told me that ash
leaves no place for cracks &
makes our clay objects hard
and last for days

in adulthood, I would wish
to smear ash on my heart, rub it
so it would never breaks and fails
for every break up & betrayal exposed to

but my mother told me that no ash
would seal a heartbreak & no medicine
would mend one, she told me that
every heartbeat is an ash pounding
& my ears a tunnel for even & cracked words
& I the sunlight −
which chooses how long I stay
to shield or crack my heart
into someone I want to be.





Nkwana Joshua Serutle is a poet and a lover of nature. His work has appeared in various publications including PoetryPotion, Odd Magazine, Sol Plaatje EU Anthology, Avbob Poetry, Best New African Poets, MuseIndia and Every Writer’s Resource. He writes in the rural village of Ga-Kgwete, Burgersfort in Limpopo, South Africa.

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