My Identity - Poem by KHAYA CLARENCE
Dearest little village,
Where the grass at all is brown and sparse
The sun comes early and the rain is despaired
The arrogant birds often soar apass for a lack of green
Corn suffered repeated humiliation from drought
Though peace is large loneliness riped
My father toiled in this village as a young boy
I then fled here for a lack of hope
Pity in the face of the inhabitants,
In their tears a sense of duty appeared
In abright vividness
It is in this village that my birth came.
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