To all the fetchers of my body
by Phiwayinkosi Kwanele Nyembe
Among us dwells entities that were cut from a different cloth
Fashioned by the spirits that laced the fabric with the power of transcendence
The veil that separates the holy of holies tore open, and from it emerged a seer.
Who meditates in movement, a stillness that evokes ancestral dwelling to move as he does
Arms stretch in perfect alignment, sweat drips from his skin and anoints the ground he stands on.
When we are laid to rest, to dust, we shall not return.
For what is death when Sandman has learnt to dance with the wind every time he breathes.
His flesh a garment made of soil.
He jumps and the air holds his body like particles.
His toes glide on stage like brush bristles painting a portrait of a realm unseen yet deeply felt.
He is not alone.
We do not walk this gravel on our own.
There are those who carry our bones on our behalf
And they whisper
“we will carry your weight, there is work to be done”
“we will carry your weight, there is work to be done”
“we will carry your weight, there is work to be done my son”
So move… and he does
The hourglass says Sandman’s time is running out.
So, he stands behind a branch and offers himself as fertile soil to grow back as a tree
With veins for stems the blood cries out and the mouth echoes its agony
Tree-man learns that those tears shall water his roots.
His alchemy of turning pain into strength is seen when stomps and chants in celebration that something else has attempted to poison his path,
Unbeknown to it that there is a lineage that has ordained his every step.
He stretched his hands as holy hymns and offers the fruits of his labour to who choose to partake in the healing power, gifted in his calling.
Tree-man becomes human again.
To remind us of the divinity that gives movement to our bodies.
Thokoza sizukulwane sikaMontsoe
Indodana yenu iwenzile umsebenzi ebin’mthume wona
(Let the generation of Montsoe rejoice, for your son has done the work you had assigned him)
