Quiet Mountain Essays

Copyright © 2009; All Rights Reserved by Author

And...Always the Missing
by
Frieda Groffy

They say Africa is like a virus that
Gets under your skin,
Not able to ever be cured,
It takes hold of your heart in a strange
Relationship of love and sometimes hate.
It makes an imprint on your soul
That can’t be erased anymore;
There is always the longing for the
Fascinating beauty of its landscapes,
The warm laughing energy of the people
No matter the poverty and hardships.
Whenever I travelled, I never missed my
Own country as a country, I missed my
Family and friends and my soul mate,
But I never felt homesick the way I do
When I’m not able to stay over there.
It’s a constant soaring pain;
A constant feeling of a deep missing
Like I’m not complete, only a fractional
Part of who I really am.
So, one day when I rested on a lonesome
Spot in the veldt I asked Mother Africa
To accept me as a true child of the red earth,
Of the anthills, the dark shadows of the
Drakensbergen, the silence of the Kalahari,
And to let me roam with Springbok and Kudu,
And adapt to the rhythm of drum and mbiri,
And dance to worship the gods of our ancestors.
She smiled, and wrapped me in her voluptuous
Generosity!

Contributor's Notes...

Ms. Groffy is a frequent contributor to QME Poetry.  Her latest book, African Footprints On My Soul, is a
collection of poetry about her experiences in, and her love for, South Africa.  The book is available from
Cyberwit.net.

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