Selling Dreams Poem by Sarah Mkhonza

Since I dream of black birds,
Everything sings my song always,
Like the noise of birds above my homestead,
Lifting their wings way up,
In a manner never heard of,
Not even once looking back,
Going into a future freer,
Sounds of their leaving
High up above me; they pull me
Over there. They flap their wings
There, where I cast my gaze,
Searching for my future.

Who took the future from me?
And walked about with it into where?
I still ask and hear voices,
Telling me if I do not go,
And find it in the sand outside,
It will be gone forever,
Washed away by the rivers,
For all this happens every minute,
I stand and ask about the future,

I am selling to the questions,
And not buying with my deeds,
That should be writing it outside,
On the very side of the river
On which you and I abide.

We can sell the dreams to the vendors,
For our minds have done the display,
Of all we could be doing,
If our lives would call it to order,
And not take us to the fiery edge,
Where we fear fires that are glowing,
Only in the pith of the earth,
Where the fluids are invisible,
And said to burn daily,
Thus charring our dreams,
That never get to the market,
Where they can be laid down for sale,
And ready to be bought by passers by,
Who admire the look and hue of our thinking,
That we have hidden in shame for too long.