The Poems Are Here
Sometimes the think pieces are much shorter and manifest themselves in the form of a poem. Here, I invite you to join a different side of the written journey. One I like to think of as little notes from my heart.
The Name
Just shy of three decades I’ve lived and I’m yet to introduce myself by my full name.
Too shy, I’ve gone by shortened variations of the beautiful prophetic name my mother gave me.
I’ve always been convinced it was to make it more palatable for the untrained tongue.
I’ve come to learn that maybe deep down I might have felt too small for the name given to me to fill with sentiment.
See,
My name tells the story of my birth,
It tells the story of the illness my mother endured as she carried me.
It scoffs at the doctor who said my chances were slim.
It speaks of the changes my family underwent to welcome me.
It speaks into existence the blessings my parents bestowed upon me.
It foreshadows the life I am meant to lead.
“Nonhlanhla Zinhle”.
Beautiful mother of luck, she named me.
A name that has always felt slightly too big for me.
A name I am constantly trying to grow into.
A name I hope to live up to.
A name I will learn to wear proudly.
Honey.
Oddly enough,
I found myself missing you this morning as I sweetened my rooibos tea with honey.
As I watched the goo swirl onto my spoon, I just felt my heart longing for you.
I love you.
When I tell you that I love you,
I mean that I’ve carved out some room in my heart and placed a pillow to rest your name upon.
That I’ve spent time hand-picking my favourite memories of you to play as a montage at the slightest resemblance of your scent.
I mean that I enjoy the sound of your laughter in ways I can’t explain because it simply speaks to me in a language many will never grow to understand.
And that from this moment on I’ll set aside time for you to casually dance across my mind whenever I think of happiness.
Years.
My years come to me in spots besides my eyes that resemble my mother’s beauty from decades of being kissed by the sun.
Souvenirs.
All your little hairs rest gently on my bed like souvenirs of the nights we have spent in each other's arms.
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Single-stranded reminders of the places our hearts travelled to the night before.
Time.
The memories will fade with time.
The days spent will blur into a distant montage of past lives lived.
Stand with grace as you let it all pass by.
Make room for all that’s to come;
All that was set aside for you by deities whose plans you’re yet to even fathom,
Will all be yours with time.
The Story.
You asked me how I’d like to tell the story of how we met.
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“In a room full of doting grandchildren…”
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“Smiling across the old sofa at a grey-haired version of you.”
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I replied.
I Just Woke Up.
I just woke up from a dream where you hugged me so tightly that my back cracked.
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You squeezed me as you lifted me off the ground, and we both exhaled.
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When my toes returned to the floor, we proceeded to do the most ridiculous dance sequence and then just giggled.
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I think that’s what you are to my soul.
A chest-clenching, belly-aching giggle after a stressful day
