At nightfall in the lean-to,
Meidjie sings the colours.
She sings the houses, white over green.
She sings the grey and crimson crests, the lourie birds.
She sings the camelthorn’s silvering leaves.
She sings the fire, she sings the clouds,
she sings the smoke, and our frightened eyes.
She sings the night, she sings the ash, she does not sing the sunrise.
She sings the hunt, she sings for sugar. She sings the bottle stores.
She sings the dead man in the road after the thunderstorm.
She sings the storybooks, the lion and the mouse,
she sings the net and the jackal’s laugh.
She sings a blue sun, she sings a yellow sea,
she sings of green grass, and a face lost in grey.
She sings our questions, how long is home, she sings of flying,
she sings of sleep. We take her sleep.
We take her voice, we take her photograph.
From her we take a dream of night,
a dream of fire; for her we dream that this is everywhere,
we dream of shelter, we dream of clouds.
We dream of children, waiting in the cold.
We dream of songbirds, we dream of ash in the stars, we dream of little Meidjie,
– and Meidjie sings.
Gqaina Primary School, Namibia, August 2013