Sitting On A Fake Rock Poem by Sarah Mkhonza
Sitting On A Fake Rock
Thought I was solid on my jog,
turned into Jupiter Street. Dead tired.
Rested my busted back. On a fake
rock. What? Me, the essence
of things real. Never, or never. A fake rock.
No denial. The truth was here staring me
in the eyes. Asking what is true about
a fake rock. Hollow inside. Darling and gloomy, yet also a rock by name.
What is this rock doing here. Thoughts invaded by question after question, I move on for one who seats on the mercy seat. To answer the question is to be more
than a fake rock. For, honestly, It knows
a better answer. It has been fake always. Me and you cannot claim anything. Always fakes.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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5/20/2024 1:12:04 PM # 1.0.0.1119
the title drew me in, but i got a bit 'lost' trying to follow the poem to its ending. mercy seat sounds familiar. hmm? could it be related to this? ? : According to the Hebrew Bible, the mercy seat (Hebrew: הַכַּפֹּֽרֶת ha-kappōreṯ) was the gold lid with two cherubim beaten out of the ends of it to cover and create the space into which God would appear.... This was connected with the rituals of the Day of Atonement; where God did appear. bri :)