 |
|
 |
|
 |
|
|
|
|
 |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
 |
| LitNet is ’n onafhanklike joernaal op die Internet, en word as gesamentlike onderneming deur Ligitprops 3042 BK en Media24 bedryf. |
|
|
 |
Kedibone
Mpho Ramaano
Kedibone was a girl
born and raised in incest shame.
Her preacher father murdered her virginity
on a holy Sunday,
in her mother’s bed,
at the age of only twelve.
He pounded on top of her
between her unformed thighs.
His bulging belly caressed
her tiny breasts
as he groaned ecstatically
like a bumble-bee,
ejaculating.
His holy-star badge flickered
at the eye of a shamed heaven
as he tortured her innocent womb.
Her tears flooded violently
as though to drown her troubles.
Her brother and uncle followed suit,
assaulting her tiny girlhood
like a pair of mad porn actors,
leaving inside of her
venom of their punctured manhood
to haunt her sleep
everyday night.
They did not close the door that night,
cold of a night breeze penetrated
her crushed conscience
whispering guilty! … guilty!! … guilty!!!
Her poor mother could only interrogate
dumb tears collected in the palm of her hand
as she attempted tenderness and comfort.
Kedibone is the girl I wanted to wed,
but each time we made love
her eyes tormented me.
Images of nude bellied men
locked between her thighs, galloping
on top of her, and behind her.
Clips of priests masturbating
and fornicating
at the sacred white-crossed altar
clouded my love-filled eyes,
drowning them in hate.
Seven years is too long,
why can’t I forget?
My soul got frozen
in the winter cold of ’97,
the moment she broke to me
scenes of her broken childhood.
Every time I think of her in the evening breeze,
stars of a beautiful night haunt me,
they paint my sky red with blood.
Now Kedibone is old,
mother to a little girl whose father
I dare not wish to know.
They say the past should be buried,
but me, I remain
like an elephant once tortured.
Previously published in Timbila 2005
LitNet: 14 February 2006
Did you enjoy this poem? Have your say! Send your comments to webvoet@litnet.co.za,
and become a part of our interactive opinion page. Or submit your own poetry
to Michelle McGrane for consideration.
back / to the top
|
© Kopiereg in die ontwerp en inhoud van hierdie webruimte behoort aan LitNet, uitgesluit die kopiereg in bydraes wat berus by die outeurs wat sodanige bydraes verskaf. LitNet streef na die plasing van oorspronklike materiaal en na die oop en onbeperkte uitruil van idees en menings. Die menings van bydraers tot hierdie werftuiste is dus hul eie en weerspieël nie noodwendig die mening van die redaksie en bestuur van LitNet nie. LitNet kan ongelukkig ook nie waarborg dat hierdie diens ononderbroke of foutloos sal wees nie en gebruikers wat steun op inligting wat hier verskaf word, doen dit op hul eie risiko. Media24, M-Web, Ligitprops 3042 BK en die bestuur en redaksie van LitNet aanvaar derhalwe geen aanspreeklikheid vir enige regstreekse of onregstreekse verlies of skade wat uit sodanige bydraes of die verskaffing van hierdie diens spruit nie. LitNet is ’n onafhanklike joernaal op die Internet, en word as gesamentlike onderneming deur Ligitprops 3042 BK en Media24 bedryf.
|
Click here to receive our newsletter - your weekly cultural fix!