THE AISLE

We all go there
Into that quiet sleep
In two faced horizons unknown
Placed in mobile boxes of our own
Our heads pointing to the west
With tears falling in the east
The black raven howling
When the doors have been opened
Speaking of all natural ways of demise
That transports all to the root of premise
We, ashes and dust begging in eternal flame
Named in ancient chronicled books of fame
The aisle is our hypothesis
Where all, will be told in whispers
Our windows smeared with white earth
As old murals daggle on our gothic walls
Obituaries painted in remembrance
The blood of off-springs crying in a dance
Our bodies stiff in the tent of hearts dense
“Here, we have gathered to pay our respect.”
The wind is no more, at dawn
Where the sin-eater has sold me like a pawn
At nine o’clock the gates will open to the lawn
The coral snake winding through streets of fawn
In black clothe its eyes shimmering
“Noah’s ark awaits the animals in Avalon”
Where the rainbow will take us all in
When the walk has been wealth-while
Our dreams placed in a recorded file
Creating widows and widowers
Our songs mocking it in sorrow
Oh dreadful death! Oh dreadful death!
Why cometh in the night
In the corridors of life!
We all go there
Into that quiet sleep
Only not proud

By Linda Sakazi Thwala