Gedigte van Estelle Zietsman

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Nagrit na nêrens

Ken jy my,
Ken ek jou?
Was ons ooit gewees,
Wie se voetspore
Lê in die natsleep van my lewensstrand?

Ek volg hom . . .
My vriend, die wind
Deur die biesiegras tot by die strand
Ons dans oor die rotse en tuimel in die see
Hy paai, my hart in opstand brand

Patrone op die strand,
portret teen die duine
Die wind, die see en ek.
Ek ry die branders hoog en wild
My vingers gevleg in maanhaarskuim so wit

Ons wieg op die deinings
Gly deur die branders
Al langs die strate af,
Seestrate uit mý verlede
Weg rit, vlug rit, nagrit na nêrens

Herinneringe aan jou

Jou foto staan trots op die rak
Jou jas ruik nog so jy
Jou trui, verrek gevorm soos jy
Jou kussing hou die holtes stewig vas
Daar waar jy eens was
Alles daar, maar sonder jou

Ek dwaal doelloos in die stofstrate van ons verlede,
Bromptonweg en Kellnerstraat
Die Pers Kaljas koffiekroeg met ouma-beskuit.
Daar sing iemand ’n hartseerstorie van verlies
Streets of Londen van Roger Wittaker
Die nawinter wys sy angel gepunt
En jy, was eens hier

Ek bel jou sel
Om net nog een maal jou stem te hoor
Ek huil, ek vergaan sonder jou
“Ons is so jammer.”
Watte-depper die stemme die pyn.
Is jy veilig, vra my gees aaneen
Die ironie: ek’s bekommerd oor jou!

My vingers omvou jou koue horlosie
My oë uit fokus deur jou bril.
Jou baadjie, slap te groot
En Liefie, ek eet steak,
Soos jy altyd daarvan gehou het.
Ek mis jou

About last night

Confusion and Indifference, who are,
Strangers in a house divided.
Lovers they once were,
Thoughts of knowledge becoming
Sibling rivalry
Turned into lies and deception
When did this become my family?

I thought that this was sanity
Mere playmates
To mar the days and ways
That once lived here
Warlocks of time and space
Immortality to rule the day
Nights that wandered far away.
If this is truth, then take my share as well.


As nastergal oor die velde van die najaar dans
As ou-meid en kanna-gras op die wieke van die wind wieg
As ek ons lag oor die veld aangerol hoor kom
As die voorsomer van die nuwe jaar om die draai is
Dan weet ek: dis ons tyd hierdie

As skadu’s oor die mure kom loer
As die voornag saggies kom lê
As ek in die nanag jou asem liggies hoor sus
As ek in die vroeë oggenduur jou stem oor my ore hoor streel
Dan weet ek: dis ons tyd hierdie

As ek my teen jou aan kan vlei
As die somer middagson ons lui kom bak
As ek en jy op ‘n foto aangebring
As Vader Tyd sy arms om ons vou
Dan weet ek: dis ons tyd hierdie


I heard them come a thunder
Clattering hoofs from afar
I heard the cries of war
I saw the goddess up on high

The leader turned around
He beckoned as he passed me by
“Follow me!” he called
So I did

A member of a different clan I’d become.
I led the stray dogs into war
Vicious platoons trained to kill
I was the first lieutenant

I saw blood crawling
It’s sticky path o’er the land
Echoes of bravery , Rupturing the battled skies
Slowly fading into midsummer night-air

By now, a captain I am
The War-goddess, I saw her face
Fleeting images of sinister delight
I commanded full dismount

I heard the palace gates swung open wide
And I brought the victory home
I heard the trumpet sound it out
Whose hero will I be?


Not fit for general life, they declared.
I acknowledged.
I know, I shouldn’t have …
The yearning for belonging stayed
Seated in the comfort of
A false belief.

I saw the dust from ancient ways
Settle slowly on my life today.
I tried to brush it away,
The dust came back to stay.
“Clear it out!” I cried.
No-one cared.

I’m the child of a lesser formation
Even if you dress me up,
I stay in lesser form
The clothing fine, the jewelry shine
People carefully crafted me a life of choice
But Royalty I’m still apparently not.

The odd-one feeling out at the table,
That was me; I’ve never fit the bill right.
Peter, Paul and Moses wept over my thoughts
As the Angel-choir went into lament.
An Angel carried my jar of tears
Enclosed with, was just one thought …

Why not?


The Marksman

In my father’s house
I was safe from harm
He was a fighter by trade
A Marksman of odd sorts
And I the beloved product thereof

He use to color my world with truth
He use to paint it with reality
Brightly showing
The picture of here and now
He use to color my world

He never missed a strike
Never even faltered
When the search was on,
Laying the table of innocence
With courage unbound

How can you say that
I am a brave heart?
My father was a Marksman of odd sorts
My father was an accurate man
I never knew him well


The Bridges of Meddlesome County

Over the road to a faraway place,
Lies the track marks of wagon wheels
Faces along the way, helpful gestures
Behind the smiling mask, sinister agendas lies

Do not take a holiday,
Do not cross that bridge,
They are but lies and empty sentences,
Ment to take you down,

Who said they are on your side?
Where did you get that book of lies
Those who say they know,
They are the Devil’s brood

Careful where you go,
The bridges of Meddlesome County are dangerous
The road to that bridge is an enticing enigma
Death lies await on the other side …

Of the Bridge to Meddlesome County


In the quiet hours

A secret assembly in the dark
On the skeletons of my existence
A verdict behind closed doors
How much damage can they inflict?
In my absence, in the quiet hours

All alone, scared and hiding for survival
Climbing the stairs to destruction
Unknowingly, in the quiet hours
The Devil is waiting for my life
His hiding place, a throne of power

I am roaming the dark hours of night
Waiting to be judged by
Devilish perceptions
All been done in the quiet hours
That’s when the most damage occurs

In the quiet hours …


Power Surge: The Foreigner’s Death

Metal against metal
I heard the swords lashing out
Against each other in a contest to win
Squirming in anguish, writhing with pain
A battle to the swift it’s not
But rather to the lasting kind

My Sekondante is in doubtful mind
He’s the bearer of bad news
Anxiously moving along with us
Exclaiming worrisome words of caution
The battle rages on and on …
Far into the darkest hours of the night.

You cursed as I stepped away
Attack! I screamed as I stepped back in
Deserved! You said, as you backstabbed me
Heavy breathing, desperately ascending
We eagerly inhale for more and …
Remember, I never started this

By chance, I missed your strike, this time.
Diamond glinstering sweat on our brows
I kept on twisting my sobriety
I sold my soul to the devil,
This time, to win.
You do not get to question that

You cried for mercy, that I cannot afford
I breathed my last cold air
Through fiery lungs
As the sun rises over the dunes
The law of the dessert, you know it well
Ignorance will become a cursed friend

Forever, my face will haunt your heart
As my soul hangs over the dunes
I watched the horses disappear,
The U-footed prints a fading clue.
Of a duel that once was here,
Of a life lost in the sand.


Indeks van digters

Stuur jou gedigte na bydraes [by] Digters is ook welkom om een foto te stuur vir publisering.

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