Sad whale-speak at Misty Cliffs

Makhosazana Xaba

The whales here speak to people.
Last night when I got lost they told me to
ask that woman and her son where the house is.
They tell me to get up in the morning, to watch them dance.
They warn me when the sun is about to set
so I won’t miss the mesmerising splendour,
the big, hot, red ball disappearing
in the greenish-blue Atlantic waters.
They even remind me to cook and eat.

There are two highly eloquent ones,
a mother and her child.
They are always close by, talking to me.
Sometimes they sing,
but all the songs are sad.
I’m not sure why they choose sad songs to sing to me.
Maybe in empathy they want me to know
coming here to be alone, to think,
was not just a good idea, it was perfect timing
for when a soul has to mourn a loss
being alone is always best.

Then you called last night
in the tone I’ve come to know so well –
hurried, efficient, almost unlistening,
galloping to end the conversation.

I understand now.
The whales were preparing me
for the sad ending of something that never really was.
Something, at best,
an almost-event.

LitNet: 31 January 2006

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