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Eendag

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Anderkant die berg lê die lang, lang pad.
Daar sal ek loop -
eendag -
wanneer die kinderskoene my voete nie meer pas
en ek uit my valle-rokkie bars,
sal ek oor my lewe spring en 'n ander een begin,
grootmens van myself, vergete kind van my ma,
verdwene kind van my pa.

Eendag sal ek op 'n Vrydag-middag my inkopies doen,
die aand voor my kaggel sit en my toekoms bepeins.
Ek sal hoogs tevrede oor my maag wil vryf
en die stilte van die aand wil gryp.
Die musiek van Beethoven, Bach en MaClean
sal in my hart weergalm.
In my kombuis sal die geur van wors in die lug bly hang
en ek sal dink aan hierdie dae.

Hierdie dae van Vrydae se storms wat heelweek lank
vanuit die berg aankom en woed,
die Saterdag deur en die Maandag stop.
Hierdie dae van wakker lê en beangs die nag aanhoor,
die verwyte geslinger, heen en weer, oor en oor,
die vrees vir geweld wat die skande bring
en die mense se oë, jammer en vol simpatie,
maar ook ander wat die spot nie versteek!

Ek sal my hard-verdiende geld op die mat uitgooi
en die Here vra om dit te seën.
Ek sal skoene koop wat my voete pas.
My rokke sal almal uit Woolworths kom
en 'n horlosie sal op my arm pryk.
Ek sal sonbrille dra en almal groet
en terugdink aan hierdie dae.

Hierdie dae van vat wat jy kry,
jou maat se ma wat smalend verwys
na die gestry by jul huis,
die reuk van drank wat aan die mure kleef
en al die tyd in jou gedagtes leef.

Eendag sal ek boeke skryf, die pyn herroep
en saggies sug
oor hierdie dae.

Beyond the mountain lies the long, long road.
There I shall go –
one day –
when the child's shoes don't fit my feet any more
and when I outgrow my frilly-dress,
I shall jump over my life and start another,
adult of my own, forgotten child of my mother,
missing child of my father.

One day I shall do my shopping on a Friday afternoon,
spending the evening sitting at the fireplace, contemplating my future.
I shall stroke my tummy in satisfaction
and seize the stillness of the night.
Music of Beethoven, Bach and MaClean
will echo through my heart.
In my kitchen the smell of sausage will linger on
and I shall remember these days.

These days of Friday-storms coming on all week
from the mountain, raging,
all day Saturday, ending on Monday.
These days of lying awake and fearfully listening at the night,
the hurled about reproaches, coming and going, over and over,
the fear of violence triggering disgrace
and the eyes of the people, sorry and sympathetic,
but also others unable to hide their scorn!

I shall scatter my hard earned money over the carpet
And ask the Lord to bless it.
I shall buy shoes that fit my feet.
My dresses will all be from smart shops
and a watch will adorn my wrist.
I shall wear sunglasses and greet every body
and remember these days.

These days of take-what-you-can,
your friend's mom sneering
at the arguments coming from your home,
the smell of liquor clinging to the walls
and never leaving your thoughts.

One day I shall write books, recalling this pain
and sigh softly
remembering these days.