A Collection of Original Poetry by Students of Ladysmith High School

Saturday, 17 September 2016

Gold Awards

The Past is a Foreign Country

What life stole from me… left me vacant.
The past being my soul harvester,
that yielded everything.

My happiness was a candle
that filled the darkness
like a firefly in the midst of depressing night.
This candle shone bright but was put off
far too many times until it burnt out.

My experiences once defined me,
experiences that I crave to revisit.
Yet my Life now is like a metaphor,
 expressing things in a concrete way.

I was once told to leave my past behind.
“The past will destroy you and your future.” They said
Yet my past was me.
But how wrong it is of me to try and resurrect my past?
How shameful is it that I still believe I can relive in my futile history?

For all that was once living is now dead.
Yet my ship still sails,
It plows through the seas of my existence
and refuses to sink.

And although my past
may be a foreign country
that cannot be revived.
Within me it is still
my oasis in the bone dry desert.
My fountain of vitality.

Nishka Ramkhelawan
Grade 12

* * *

The Place

We probably shouldn't have spoken
The first conversation was too fatally flawless to be real
How one voice echoed the miraculous sound of the other
like sound waves of a siren
Not knowing where mine started and where yours ended
The deep memories between us...
We remain in an unbroken connection
yet it seems we never connected to begin with
How one hand held another without physical contact
How palms edged away from each other
after expressing what seemed to be a scene of symmetrical compatibility...
But it all remains there now
it all remains in that deep,dark ravenous place lacking illumination and truth

He seemed to be a friend,one who got friendly beyond boundaries
"He's just a friend",were your words
How was I not to feel the heat when you and I started out exactly the same?
He probably wiped away all the tears and blood from your eyes
How did I not notice that he would finally have your heart?
With his dark shadow being followed by one of its own
I was blind to his true motives
I guess I'm to blame for  not realising there's no smoke without a fire
but the fire in his eyes resembled a familiar place,familiar beyond my comprehension...
A place where memories lie,both soothing and sickening
A place of mastery in the torturing of my soul
A place of forgotten desires and moments long unwanted
and a cycle of nightmares coming to life
A place I have learnt to visit with the soul and mind but never with the heart
A place I would greatly loathe,yet somehow call home
Foreign in times of bliss yet near in times of sorrow
A place I would never freely venture unto
but forced as mere escape of my thoughts
The past is such a place and a foreign country is what I choose to call it...

Siyabonga Dlamini
Grade 12

* * *

The Past is a Foreign Country

The past is a foreign country,
with barren fields of sand, where
the steps of humanity once trod,
like the scorching desert that
drowns life in waves of heat.

The past is oblivion's subtle boast,
that whispers eroded memories
and secrets of the heart,
like an echo of a breeze on rolling hills.

It is an incoherent dream,
destined for non-existence,
creating derision... creating despair.

The past is a foreign country,
where time lies dormant - buried
on ancient lands dotted with the
tombs of the dead,
awaiting the gyre of "Karma"...
Awaiting resurrection.

Nsiki Gwala
Grade 11

* * *

The Past is a Foreign Country

There is a far away land ,
Further than comprehension,
In this strange place,
There is a young boy,
And he is saying what I once said,
Doing what I once did,
Follows where I now lead,
He's falling for the same girl I would die for,
He feels pride for things I now feel nothing but shame,
All he wants is to do is have fun,
In this case we are not the same,
For the thing I seek, the thing I crave,
Is to travel to this place,
The land of second chances,
So I can correct the mistakes he's making,
Do right where he's doing wrong,
Doesn't he know it's my life he's forsaking ?
But this boy I speak of,
In truth is actually me,
The only difference?
He's In the past as a foreign country.

Seth Lindsay

Grade 10

* * *


You never knew you were a survivor
But you knew, you were the beast
That only came out to feast
The beast that preys on the young and the weak.

It came to you at your worst
That drug addiction
If only it was fiction and hallucination
But the beast was real.

It manipulated your mind
You even tried to hide
You hated having a toxic mind
You needed an antidote of some kind.

You hurt everyone
Leaving everyone stunned
Wondering when they would say their last goodbye.

You were an intruder trapped within
 A shadow constantly avoided
You asked for help
But no ear would hear

You had angel wings to fly
But you would sit and cry
And constantly ask why?
They all hated you…

But it wasn’t the real you
Where had you gone?
Predator was your mind…
Hidden within prey your physical being…

Survival wins over predator and prey.

Charné Williams
Grade 10

* * *

My Past

The past is on my mind
with old thoughts and memories
overflowing into the next
making it as invalid as the last

For me this is not the place to be,
like a nightmare wanting to be forgotten
and never remembered.

These days are very vague
being shadowed by the fog of
what I wanted it to be.

I could never reflect on these weathered memories,
my mind refuses.
It is like looking into the pieces of a shattered mirror
all emulating the same twisted reality

Although I cannot avoid these terrible times
The past is not the template to my future
For I will define my path
And become the great I am destined to be.

Never having a proper home
Or normal family to love
Eating amongst dozens
Just like me.
I reach into an empty frame at night
Waiting for hand to reach back,
Waiting and wishing for them back

One could only imagine my past…

Neelan Gounden
Grade 10

* * *

The Past is a Foreign Country

When your mother gave birth to you and held
her infant child in her hands for the fist time,
As the nurse lay your tiny head in her hand,
She caresses your small skull,
as if to show that she is bestowing onto you,
All her knowledge, all her wisdom, all her love
and every ounce of the fire that burns within her.
As she dose so, she says to you-

“My child. I almost wish you were not born,
Your innocence is not ready for the cruelty of this world,
but for as long as I fight, my child your
Future will be as bright as the stars above.
You, my child are my star!”

At that moment, that split second,
You did not understand what she meant.
You are older now and do you understand,
Do you understand the struggle she went through,
the struggle they ALL went though.
The struggle THEY went through for YOU!


Alexandria Nathi

Grade 8

* * *

Dare to Care?

The swirling tides ebb their way away from the turbulent shores
As I stand paralysed beside the dusty window in agony over my chores
Do these people have acknowledgement of the torture I face?
No, how could they with all that luxurious jewellery and lace!
As streams of tears ripple down my face,
They are able to perfect my insignificance with such immaculate elegance and grace
Is this brutal behavior my punishment for committing a heinous crime?
Well if that's the situation then surely death must consume any time.

Who am I but just feeble minded and inconsequential soul
Wondering aimlessly without an ambition, without a simple goal
My painful heart pleads constantly for love and comfort of some kind
Be it in thought, be it in touch or be it in mind
Could it be my destiny to endure this piercing pain?
For they show no passion nor sympathy - they don't even know my name.

The swirling tides ebb their way away from the turbulent shores
As I stand paralysed beside the dusty window in agony over my chores
The illuminating beauty of the mystical sunset captivates me
Painting a glorious picture, one I believed I would never see
As the magical melody of that enchanting ball travels through the air.
I view my prison - with hope that someone would dare to care.

Yasthi Singh
Grade 8

No comments:

Post a Comment

Thank you for reading our poetry!
Positive and supportive commentary is welcomed.
Negative or abusive remarks will not be published.