Happy New Poetry Year Folks. Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

The old year stands on a mountain
And waves at you like a golden sunset
That gleams half hidden in the darkness
That creeps in slowly ready to throw
Itself on the couch of time and sleep
Never to awake. It will not snore
Loud unless you want it to
So make sure you pull out
The stoppers in your ears
Lest you miss the song I
Will sing from up on top
Of the mountain my silhouette
Standing against the setting
Year.

We will never step into it
Once it steps out so on this
Day let us walk with loud steps
Stepping on it harder for it
Is better to say goodbye to
This year that gave much more
Than we expected.


The year says that we will
Return and spell out the
Minutes in story if we did
Not write a few words to
Remind ourselves that life
Was just another starry sky
That we walked through
Without catching anything
Not even a fly that buzzes
Into the house of our time
Asking us to swat it and get
On for when it has fallen it
Will be evidence we were here
Like a deer hunter carrying home
His poached burden and not wanting
To be found out.

The new year rises in the east
The sunrise that is crowned
By the rays that greet you
And makes you say the day has
Come for at the hour of midnight
There will be new cries as
Newborns come to this world
Like the year we greet in two days
Which has come to ask you
A question you need to answer
Because if you do not you will
Return to regret not doing so.
What do you see your self
Doing in five years after
You yawn your first yawn
On the first day of each
New year including this
Very one you are going to
Stand in and make a prophecy
About nothing?

The blessing is to step
My foot into the whole
Thing clean and take what
My shoe has created prints on
In this muddy world where
I turn mud to build another
Year without a broken window
So please do not trouble
Me by sneaking into my stories
For I am not royalty
And deserve the quiet
For I do not live on your
Taxes and claim I can make
You what you are. I just give
For God gave to me.
I love you with the love
Of the mud that made you and
To which you will return
At the strike of twelve.
Happy New Poetry Year folks
From your Princess of Poetry.