prophecy of the chosen one
(for pitika ntuli – south african sculptor/poet)
l
we are children of the stars
our ancestors perambulate the cosmos
with no intention but to continue
in their dance of infinite being
like notes in an eternal melody
bursting from the cluster
of heavenly harmonies
we met when we were prepared
by the imminent call
to freefall into the lap of rhythm
from where the hands of divination
serve the braided nature of space and time
to nurture us into the fullness
of our creative bestowal
then my soul brother
you descended
on a slender shaft of light
into the hallowed forest
where you re-emerged
in a gourd of the seeding
of our collective memories
and we followed you
for you were the resonator
of our rapture at this dawning
of the fruition of our dream
and we knew that our closeness
would ferment our hopes
to be absorbed into the striations
of your celebratory chant
and so your eloquent fingers
tapped the sap of our belonging
planted as inspirational loci
in the cycle of your orbit
and we danced
among the proud trees
in search of our buried songs
to bring out their embedded promise
so you would also inhale our aspirations
now in the days of withdrawal
into the confines
of our healing meditation
you rise into the capacious dome
to retrieve our twin nature
so that we can refresh
the braided choreography
of umkhathi
the spacetime continuum
ll
almighty healer
you have thrown your bones
in the ritual divination
of the waters that flow
from the hidden source
of our rivers
the mountains that surround
the theatre of your prophecy
are rich with the marrow
of our residual memories
i hear the gathered people ask
where do you hail from
you whose utterances
intone our dawning
with the spittle of the gods
you whose hands
carve poetic litanies
of long shadows
that have swallowed
the ossified legacies
of exhausted songs of evocation
your creations
are cosmic geometrics
made manifest on the plains
of our adventure
as children of the stars
your musings tell us that
there once were violins
strung with the tendons
of predators of our blessings
we watch as you tender
hunched surrogate gods of intuition
draped in the skins of calves
so translucent they reveal the foreboding
of their bare bones
we treasure your inspiration
like corpuscular cosmic droplets
that congregate in the garden
of your ceremonial mornings
as the dew of your innovation
eugene skeef 140520