Library of Congregants
The sun soaked the earth in light of the moon,
as she sat in the middle of an empty cathedral
admiring the old wooden pews, dented by the joints
of faithful believers,
she was, as she amusingly put it
‘Spiritual and not religious’ every time
leaving a surprised look on whoever dared to ask,
from a devoted congregant to a spiritual healer,
she shone bright like a moon on the earth,
a celestial in flesh, eyes as pearls around a green nebula,
skin a copper tint with veins running through
like the great Nile,
the old hymns echoed in her mind
as she stared at the stained glass murals,
they were going to turn this old building into a club,
fortunately, she convinced the community
to keep it as a library,
a collection of text surrounded by divine breath,
enjoying the architecture, a dove cooed near the altar
as a cool breeze wafted beneath her feet, even what seems old
can be healed for a new…
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Poem © Marcel Aduda
Image: David Clarke Unsplash remixed
“Like gum under your shoe, good poetry should stay with you for the journey.” — From Rethabile Masilo’s literary commentary in the Daily Maverick”