Last Noise

Red light blinking
Auntie Faya turns the key
Last Saturday in this room
Record everything
This is the last noise

Bo-Kaap houses painted loud on purpose
Faya's apron older than the front-door sign
Fishcakes turning gold beside the window
Uncle Boeta tuning one stubborn banjo string
Rent letter folded underneath the till
New owner wants a silent rooftop bar
Aaliyah holds her little recorder up
Key in lock—take one. Kettle—take two
Floorboard creak, spoon against the pot
Thirty years hiding inside ordinary sounds
Tonight the room is not only saying goodbye
It is telling us exactly what to carry

Bring your banjo, bring your voice, bring your feet
Ghoema drum, give every memory a beat
Before they paint this room another name
Let the red light learn us as we are

This is the last noise from this room
Turn it up and let the recorder move
They can close the address, change the view
They cannot make these sounds untrue

Key in lock
We hear it
Kettle sing
We hear it
We hear it
Last noise—record everything

Aaliyah labels every little file
Boeta's strap held up with silver tape
Front-step clap at ten past nine
Faya shouting, Turn the fishcakes once
Children stamp the ghoema on the boards
Old couples add their names between the songs
The landlord's man waits outside, checking time
Even he goes quiet when the choir starts
At eleven-fifty Faya kills the lights
The crowd holds still for one full breath
Then Aaliyah presses playback in the dark
And the whole room hears itself alive

Banjo string, apron fold, front-door key
Every small sound says this room was here
Before the walls forget the way we moved
Let the red light keep the proof

This is the last noise from this room
Turn it up and let the recorder move
They can close the address, change the view
They cannot make these sounds untrue

The room goes quiet
But the recording keeps breathing
A kettle, a laugh, one ghoema beat
Boeta missing the same note twice
Faya says, Play that back
And for a moment the closed room opens
Not in the building
Inside everybody listening

This is the last noise from this room
Not the last place this rhythm moves
They can close the address, change the view
They cannot make these sounds untrue
Take the key, the laugh, the ghoema line
Carry every ordinary sign
Last noise from this room tonight
First sound of the archive coming alive

Aaliyah saves the final file
Faya's door—Saturday—one last close
Boeta plays the old refrain outside
Red light off
Banjo still ringing