vlugteling

my naels byt ek met 'n ritmiese onsekerheid

die sweet korrel tussen my borste

ek is vlugteling uit die stad van Woord

ek deins met onafgemete tree

val oor ongelykhede in die kobbelstrate

tuur terug oor die afstand van my vlug

my lot, my lot!

Woord lê in puin

my tong verklip tot stilt...

refugee

i bite my nails with a rhythmical uncertainty
the sweat beads between my breasts
i am a refugee from the city of Word
i stumble with unmeasured steps
trip over the unevenness of the cobbled streets
i gaze back over the distance of my flight
my fate, my fate!
Word lies in ruins
my tongue petrifies to silen...