The Circus

Life, what a circus?

Unknown to us, we  faithfully queue 

For the next available seat 

It is a long queue but no one has a choice 

So we stand and watch the Grim Reaper have his day 

Sometimes He is at the front 

Sometimes at the back 

Sometimes He is in popular spots

And headlines are made

Sometimes in unknown locations

He passes unnoticed 

But every day He calls 

A seat is empty here!

Who is next?! 

The tremor is too deep 

To go unnoticed 

For no one knows what’s inside 

The huge tent that has stood since time 

Pitch black, no glimpse

No one knows the Performer

Deadly silent, no echos from within 

No one knows what happens 

When that show is over 

And the Grim Reaper cannot call again 

And of the day, He will have no one to call

But for now, there is an empty seat 

Who is next?

Written on the passing of poet, writer, politician and the poet's maternal grandfather Rashaka Ratshitanga (PBUH)