Ode to the Steps – Janis Theron
Oct 30th, 2008 by Johan
A new friend (Janis Theron) of Simon’s Town wrote……
There are whispers at night
When the wind is silent
And the baboons are sleeping.
The stones are telling their stories.
Spontaneous outbursts of joy, ire, revelation,
Of the feet that brushed their heads today;
Of the voices that sighed as the feet climbed higher.
The stones are telling their stories.
Of the lightness of some feet, skipping upwards
And the heaviness of others plodding to a destination.
The whispers rise and fall, a giggle carries two landings up,
Where one step has lost a rock
And only a gaping hole and space to fall remains.
A story of four feet that left the path,
And crushed the grass and flowers and lizards living there -
Four feet locked in embrace.
The gaping step sighs…
Yes, the blue wrappers of condoms lie here still in my cracks.
And that’s not all.
The conversation turns.
My stones, my cracks, the tall grasses growing from my depths –
Covered in bright shiny plastics and papers.
Shattered bottles cover me in glass here where I lie;
They are hurting my history.
They are hurting my pride.
They cut into what I am meant to be, this step on this mountain.
The whisper grows louder
And a choir of murmurs becomes a shout of exasperation.
It is the condom wrappers, the plastic bottles, the glass bottles and the plastic papers,
Yes!
The Watsonias are flowering, pink and proud;
But their glory is clouded by the stench of abuse
Of a nature reserve and her views.
Yes!
Our history lies here.
The heavy tread of soldiers’ boots;
The clack of rifle butt on stone,
The whiff of cigarette smoke.
Trampled daily, eroded by boots and shoes,
And dressed in the artificial clothing of waste.
The stone steps crumble away, gradually,
Only their stories to tell in whispers
When the wind is silent
And the baboons are sleeping.
It’s great to have you back. Thanks.
