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Gabriela Masson

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Poem "A child of the veld":
- written November 2007
- published November 7, 2007
- viewed 341 times

Other poems by Gabriela Masson:
»A war poem«
»Bare Skinned Angel«
»Children«
»Dark Side of the Moon«
»My Keeper«
»Shape shift killer«
»The Day«
»The Honey Voiced Girl«
»The Kiln or attic«


»A child of the veld«

by Gabriela Masson

I ran upon legs that were thin and red with sand
I ran through the long yellow grass and giggled as my brother chased me
The sun beat down upon our heads
October, November, December, January, February
The summer months so long and hot
The great sky that is so blue and clear, seemingly close enough just to touch, touch
The skinny old dog and his owner too walk past us and don?t seem to care for our childish glee
And then we sprinted to the gate that surrounded it so completely
Those great water towers that were like immense fortresses of the sacred liquid
I looked up and got a thrill as they stood so impossibly tall
I laughed again and so did my brother
And when we looked to our left: we saw the mines so old and monumental
Mountains of worthless dusty earth that had once held the shimmering mineral of the lands beating heart
The great divided layers of their stony faces and their diminishing size
The wealth was spent and so was this place and all its gold mines that formed the sacrosanct arch of yellow riches
All these towns depending on its hard mineral, caring for it like a spoilt child
Yet what did it care for them? It didn?t care the least for their empty pockets or hungry mouths, did not weep for their lost jobs and fallen faces
No! It was free and ruled this town
Looking over the uneven land to his brother the cold, steel manmade factories
They glinted in the white hot sun and blinked at me with shattered glass eyes
Inside them worked the men and between them ran the useless retired railway track
Surrounded by legend and rust were these lines
The gate so tall and impenetrable bore down on us with grinning gaped teeth
?Let us in!? we cried in loud chorus
But it simply stood still and forced us away from it, never letting us enter inside to the fortresses of the tower mermaids
We ran again faster still and cared little for the shards of rock and busy roads or steaming tar of the black rivers
No! Not us! We were free to run and scream to the mother moon and the blazing sun
Because after all were we not the children of the veld? Yellow and long..

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Read all comments to this poem
  •  Hettie Van Zyl: "Agreat mind for your age.Its thoughts of a real writer. Thanks"
  •  Marsh: "you're so beautifully descriptive. I hope a novel is in the making :)"