Resident Artist 3: No. 4 — Sins of the Father

Burn me

Put me in the ground

This skin drapes my bones

A crumpled robe of shame

You see me totter on the sidewalk

Hunched and weak

Weepy of eye and beaten by time

All this living has killed me

But no, no, do not pity me

Or underestimate me

I am rotten to the core

And I have secrets to share

I will write them before I go

This winter is my last

Some people are going to be unhappy

I was there when Radko torched the village

When they raped and tortured

And cut the balls off the men

I was there, I ordered it

They needed cleansing

And the disaster at the pass

No accident

We set the charges and brought the mountain down

Got all of them in one go

I have watched life flicker and die

Plunged knives into necks

I have so many secrets to tell

I want the bastards to burn with me

What a fire we shall make

You see me at the crosswalk

And offer your hand

I take it and shuffle over the road

Bless you and Thank you

But you really shouldn’t have.

Resident Artist 3: Dion Loubser No. 4