In its trance, weak yet strong
Lost in the addictions of maybe
Awake to the aroma of possibilities
...
When we buried Zim
Or rather when we heard of Zim’s passage
Braamfontein showered for an hour
With the sun aroused in the skies
...
Winnie Mandela
what words should write
of what circumstances
yet the summer rain prophetic not
...
Silent voices
of no chorus to hum
no harp to tune
yet the voice so loud
...
Tonight I write to my death
Tonight I breath words
Tonight I eat at the palms of the rhino and miner
I engage the sophistication of injustice
...
These men, blankets, sticks and hearts
chasing the dust
...