Lesotho: Lindelwa Xingwana

Available for over a year

LET IT BE KNOWN By LINDELWA XINGWANA Here, in this patch and dot We bare no marks on our skins We have no whom of who's My neighbours' palm readings are mine. On this patch and dot The sun sets, the smoke dies it beckons; now the flames come alive We gather, and in this familiar chatter fire burns no one My Granny and those of my friends have old wrinkled fingers, They clutch sticks whose pangs we've all felt. Now my granny and all her friends open their caves of wisdom The story always begins with "Let me riddle you this:" But no journal chronicles these tales. She says, "Be thankful for this burden of these uncivilised pageantries For these gatherings near these fires For lessons learned in these riddles Keep the sanctity of this world I cannot bear to lose. These stories die: You perish without the roots". No story is told these nights. In this patch and dot The fire is fading, the chatter is dying The silence whispers "keep your pageantries' worth Nurture your children in the shade of their delight Let them be known. Let this patch and dot be known"