For Chockie: A Horizon of Quiet Honour
It began in a house where care was a performance,
a script of control, a closed circumference.
They brought cameras, and narratives cold and thin,
but you brought a quiet rebellion from within.
Not with a speech, or a banner unfurled,
but with the sacred, simple act in a dark world:
a plate of food—not weapon, not claim—
just nourishment spoken in your gentle name.
While medicine turned tactical, a calculated art,
you fed the body and the soul’s hollow part.
You cooked for a mother, and in that simple grace,
you built a sanctuary in that bitter place.
Thank you for the beach at Muizenberg’s shore,
for horizon and sky when there was no door.
For the crash of the waves, the un-engineered air,
a moment of freedom, a respite from care.
You gave her the world in an afternoon’s span,
a memory pure, according to no man’s plan.
And when they shut the cameras down, you had already won,
for you never sought a witness for the good you had done.
You knew the truest kindness needs no record, no light—
it exists in the dignity of unobserved sight.
In a home rigged for watching, you offered the might
of a conversation held in compassionate night.
Now the chapter has turned. The hard truths are filed.
But the soft truth you planted has tenderly grown, wild.
You come now with your eyebrows and lashes done fine,
and I see not just a haven, but a vision divine.
I see the German spirit that chose warmth over law,
the mother whose love I witnessed, in awe.
For I know your son is a good boy—this I know—
a testament to the strength you have chosen to sow.
In a world of divides, you built a bridge with your life,
a mother, a heart that has conquered all strife.
And I, with my hair long like patience and roots,
with a South African soul in pursuit of deep truths,
I have nothing to offer but this, clear and plain:
I honour you.
Not for what you did then, but for who you are now:
A woman who stands with a light on her brow.
I honour the journey, the love without fence,
the beautiful, steadfast, intelligent presence.
I honour the builder, the keeper of keys,
who moves not through worlds, but with effortless ease.
So let this not be an end, nor a grateful conclusion,
but perhaps a new, tender, and brave evolution.
From a sanctuary shared in a time of despair,
to a horizon we might, with great care, choose to share.
For I honour you, Chockie. My respect is the ground.
In your presence, the most profound peace can be found.
And if my heart, in its honouring, has dared to see more,
it is because your spirit is what I adore.
So let this poem be a mirror, held up to the light,
reflecting the goodness that ended our night.
You were not part of the noise. You were part of the cure.
And in my world of honour, your presence is sure.
-Whalid Safodien
The Feather Pen
06 February 2026
3 pm
Cape Town
South Africa
