Carving my own fate
Into the sand of Life's beach.
Grabbing destiny
By the scruff of the air around it.
Trying to walk around the mountain of Life
Thinking it's a mole hill.
Rappelling across the surface
Of the lake of Self Determination.
Like Midas with his touch,
Everything I grasp turns gold.
While that may be exciting to hear,
All I touch turns out to be gilded,
Not Golden.
As permanent as the present,
My presence is remembered by most,
But forgotten by all.
As relevant as the town I came from.
As you read this, try to act interested.
Do me the honour of thinking of me,
At least for the brief second you've
Spared to look at this scribbled text.
That way, I can finally say
That I mattered to someone -
Even if only for a moment.
I wouldn't dare ask for more,
For fear of disappointment,
Because I know that will be
Another promise broken;
And just like every other time,
I'll be the one that someone has forgotten.
© Thokoza Lushaba
***
Grade 12
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