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Vangile Gantsho

Freelance Artist/Writer - "I don't suffer from insanity. I thoroughly enjoy it. You're just jealous coz the voices only speak to me." -I'm crazy enough to be loads of fun - sane enough not to be locked up (...well, permanently that is..) smart enough to hold my own - and shallow enough to not be a bore!

Peasants Paint Scorched Vines

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This is the price that often comes with true love.  For the brave few who dare to love completely, it’s a risk we take…that our love might not be returned.  And the pain that comes with that.  That is the pain that no one can comfort us from.  It is the pain that we must live through, and often we feel the only way to do that is through regret.  Perhaps by turning the love into some bad memory we once had, we can change the past and make it easier to walk away…but in actual truth, we just ruin a perfectly pure and memorable life-long experience

Peasants Paint Scorched Vines

Peasants weep as jesters for the king

and artists must die to give their masterpieces life

In a world that should have

that could have

I learnt that even the gentle flame

can bring harm to the finest of vines

when we don’t

So

I love you in ways my sorrow

cannot forgive

from a deep pit within my chest

that distances itself from

my rational

I have carved you a throne

crowned you king and

fallen victim to the tyranny

of your absence.

You have made me that peasant

who pleads for mercy

at emerald phones

constantly rejected by servants

who bask in the poetry of your presence

and snicker at the girl

who has forgotten her place

I love you in ways my sleepless nights

cannot overlook

beyond those glistening eyelids

in imaginations that

spark hope

I have painted You, my portrait

framed You, my masterpiece

neglected in the basements

of your absence.

You have gathered dust awaiting my death

Your betrayal will emerge when I have passed

some random vagabond will remove my dust

and relish in the fortunes of your smile…

never knowing the artist

behind the frame that so selflessly

makes you worth that extra rand

And I realise now

I should have burnt you at the stake

before you said hello

thrown your charms into the furnace

before your heart kissed my skin

before your flames devoured my cave

I should never have let you

paint my breasts

with possibilities of red and orange

I should have forbidden you from filling my head

with thick grey lies

And

You could have been gentler with my vines

With some compassion

our harvests could have produced bottles

of TrueLove’s finest

With only the slightest commitment

you could have sipped

the richness of fermented affections and

if that was not your wish…

you could have simply left

Instead of watching me mature

into this sad bottle of nothingness.

Now I know that

Peasants do indeed weep

as jesters for the king

and artists must truly die

to give their masterpieces life

In a world that should have

that could have

I learnt that even the gentlest of flames

can bring ruin to the finest vines

when we don’t.

So we love without caution

And when that love is not

returned

we hurt without solace

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