I knew what you did to me,
But I didn't know why;
So I labelled It Love,
And I let It lie...
When this head
of black strings turns grey
When this spring
September turns to chilly May
Who said........This is poetry?
Who said........That the words are free?
Who said........This is you and me, not us or we?
And though I write these saddened words
On the white sheets of forest abhorition
Owing their malice to both industrial
And to aboriginal organisations of destruction
There will always be something wrong today;
That might have been right yesterday,
But who are we to decide what is wrong and right,
For today or any other day or night?
Behold, a marvelous sight!
A handsome Boy from morning to night,
Self-reliant, self dependant and oh so brave.
No one's king and no one's knave.
ndikuthanda ngako konke
silence sweeps the crowd
of anxious faces
waiting to see
Yeyiphi eyona nzala kaXhosa?
Bafika basinika iiBhokhwe.