My black cat lives in night’s pockets,
screams like a peacock in the dark.
I hear his wail and try to think of God
as the Sufis say I should.

He cannot remember
where to find me.
It’s the suffering of old age
that cries out for company, for food, for love.

He is empty,
stuffed with nameless desire
that lives in his stomach,
in the hollow above his pelvis
in the sway of his back
and in the stink of his breath.

I hear the cry and awaken to memory
wrapped in night’s garment, calling out
β€œ here I am, I am here, you are not alone”.


3 Responses to “Remembrance”

  1. 1 John Looker February 10, 2015 at 4:16 pm

    I like this very much, Kalila. First it shows us your cat, poor old thing, but next we are looking at old age and life for ourselves, and from a new perspective. A poem to come back to, I think.

  2. 2 Nomzi Kumalo February 12, 2015 at 11:06 pm

    Such honesty and truth in there. πŸ™‚

  3. 3 John Looker February 23, 2015 at 12:14 pm

    I came back to reread – it’s an immensely satisfying poem.

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February 2015
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