Where The Wind Don’t Blow

An excerpt from a poem by Bessie Head

My home is a glass of wine;

The slow curling smoke of a cigarette;

All the new tomorrow;

The days groan of laughter

When you go your own way; Ride high

On the tide of your own thoughts, desires:

And, looking back you grin at those behind;

You’re far ahead, flying, flying

In someplace

Where the wind don’t blow.

Don’t enter

If you don’t like my home!

Please don’t look!

It’s a cage timid as the eyes

Of a trapped beast;

Quivering defenceless-

How can my home be this way?

Most priceless, defenceless;

Most valuable, valueless;

Most welcome, forbidding;

Tread softly-

The walls breathe peace;

Deep dark peace-

And the wind don’t blow.”

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