**FOR THOSE OF US WHO MAKE MUSIC

**we walked in the early morning when the dogs were tired of barking

our footsteps,

lost in the ways of ticking minutes

took us everywhere where we never intended to be

like,

remember how the minute looked under its sole

and there our blood was

our flesh, stuck under sole turning to soil

blood and flesh turned to mud

the hour, like all the applauses we know and have heard

declared us ants destined for the mad hoofs

so the weary midnight hour held our hands

and the empty streets stared at us with their lights

and again, once more, we kept turning on our beds

as if the mattress was hot earth roasting worms

ah

music-maker, one day when your feather breaks

and the prowess of your speech vanishes like a snowflake falling on the earth

remember

you ride the hour like death rides life

© 1975, [Mongane Wally Serote](https://www.poetryinternational.com/en/poets-poems/poems/poem/103-15597_FOR-THOSE-OF-US-WHO-MAKE-MUSIC)

From: Behold Mama, Flowers

Publisher: AD Donker, Johannesburg

new york, 1975