Summer Days At Hammarsdale Poem by Sicelo Sithole

Early in the morning they shout,
In the lonely dark streets.
Walking, talking and wondering about.
Who cares anyway, it is their freedom to be.
But look closely at their stories stolen with ease from their bare feet
The loss of true self and the power of the imagination to see
A new world that can arise from these ashes and a dream that can never fail
In these lonely dark streets yes, beneath the summer days at Hammarsdale