i suppose i am still not local enough
to stop seeing it,
to stop seeing things and thinking
straightaway
of the country.
walking back to the res late
(almost midnight)
thinking of struggle songs
(ayesab’ amagwala)
like a dream, passing in front
too far ahead
to have been seen
and you think:
were they really there?
marching and protesting and
of course i felt the surreality of it all
as a metaphor for the country,
why not?
(ayesab’ amagwala)
or those beautiful people
at scout hall:
could it really have been they
who met me on the road later
when the stars were high?
in both cases
i was on
african street.
