The Dream(Mongiwekhaya) I had a dream. I was working the docks again, Capetown docks. And suddenly a ship sailed in. She was old, her sails torn asunder as evidence of some terrific storm. An aura of dread befell the docks. Not a soul could be seen on the ship.

But I heard a soft singing; a voice, sweet and gentle emanated from the ship. The sound was so alluring that I wanted to get on the ship. Standing next to me was a peacock. I plucked two feathers from its tail and flew up into the air.

I hovered over the ship and looked down. I saw ripped limbs and torsos, severed heads. I saw the deck was slick with blood. Worse still, these abused bodies still moved, still engaged in battle, hands clawing at foreign eyes, dismembered arms swinging bloody swords at anything, the moans of wretched throats, the frantic beats of exposed hearts. And in the midst of this madness, the voice still called.

I landed on the deck and all the body parts stopped fighting.

We are hungry they said.

I have nothing to give I said.

Give yourself they said.

Hesitating, I said no.

There was a wooden groan and the ship heaved, its stern rising, rising with a terrific roar that silenced the sweet voice, that blocked the sun. The peacock feathers turned into hooks, which clung into the boat.

I hung on.

The dismembered souls tumbled all around into a pile below me that writhed and churned, churning with its thousand eyes locked onto me. The corpses joined together and formed a flesh monster, a beast. It opened its throat as if to roar; instead the soft voice called again, from its legion of lips, pleading, alluring once more; a promise now, a desire fulfilled later.

I let go.

And fell into the mouth of the giant corpse beast.

Darkness enveloped me for a moment before light gathered. I was deep in the belly, and I could no longer hear the voice. There were a thousand frantic beating hearts around me, so loud and numerous as to mimic a raging river. And at the center of this cacophony, she crouched in the center, face covered by sandy locks of hair. It was mother rising, singing, her arms open to embrace and exposed the blade driven deep into her heart. She rips it out and offers it to me saying…. ‘Welcome.’

Welcome? I asked.

Yes. Welcome. She said.

Should I be afraid?

Afraid of what?

This. Death.

This is not Death. This is a dream. A dream of life. Often our dreams are not as they seem. Perhaps we corpses are alive, calling you to life, and you are the walking dead.

But you were all bleeding, hacking at each other.

The Living bleed. Words can hack. Love is sharp. Families go to war. There is only peace in death. And there is life in Life.


I woke up in a cold sweat and immediately thought of you.

---