In my chase after it,
I found myself standing on top of corrugated iron.
It was
loosely placed
across gaps of space
But
I didn’t know that.
Leaving me,
watching it collapse
into swamps of green and brown
As it
pulled me down with it,
where sounds
drowned
into desperation
And breaths
digressed
into scarcity
Leaving me,
in that gap of space
Trembling.
© Hudson Biko
It streamed steadily
from sources we call chambers
to mouths we call tips.
It
ingrained itself
on an untouched canvas
Then
morphed
into a succession
of black lines
and black hearts
Lines piercing
Hearts beating
It’s darkness
left
behind
Then
recreated
from sources we call chambers
Before slowly fading
Again.
©
Your
remains
remain
lingering
on sofa sets
like the smoke of cigarettes
on jackets
from all those summers ago.
Your
remains
remain
lingering
in corridors
whose doors
open to floors
I call memory.
Your remains remain lingering,
opening
doors
to corridors
of
memory,
from all those summers ago.
© Hudson Biko
Growing up, in summer months
We would ride
wheelbarrows
across barrows
and potholes.
We would fall
o
f
f
the rugged metal
and then
c r a w l
back onto it.
We would run across fields
that took us farther
and farther
from the calls of our fathers
and mothers
before
c r a w l i n g
back to them.
Growing up, in summer months
we were nonchalant
about the absence of
electricity
because we had our own eccentricity
flowing through veins
of simplicity and
naivety.
Growing up, in summer months
we would rise,
we would fall – then crawl,
we would run across fields.
We were nonchalant
;
I was nonchalant.
Because my own eccentricity
flowed t h r o u g h veins
of simplicity
and
naivety.
I miss that.
© Hudson Biko
I stood there
In a patch of dirt
That
somehow supported
maize stalks
and
side walks.
Both preceding
hues of green
in the form of tress
That gathered
in patches we call forests
,
Each fathered
By birds, herds
and
swarms
of bees
floating in a breeze
Broken only by the hills.
Hills
that
rolled
into
the
Sunrise
.
I stood there
thinking about how this isn’t everywhere
Thinking.
Then stopping
myself because
this was
beautiful.
Breathing in the untouched air
marveling in its tranquility
and its innocence.
I stood there,
in a patch of dirt,
that somehow supported maize stalks and side walks.
© Hudson Biko
hudson biko 