There used to be no border
Between Kakwano and Kakwa.
It is there at the Kakwa hall
That we learnt to dance.
Getting lost, too easily, in songs.
It was at the Kakwano motel
Where we got to mature.
Pain and happiness have never been that close.
Sheets can never be that soft.
A bed has never felt that big.
Now there she is
Lying under the Mophane tree
Furiously fanning her body with a card-box
Wishing the border to open quickly
So she can come jump into our pool
I likewise sit here
Whiling away time by telling tales.
“In the past I should be full by now.
MmaNeo’s cooking will always be the best.”
But there is a border between Kakwano and Kakwa
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem