By Kwanele Khumalo
They have created trenches on my face.
Steep depression in the deepest parts, of my heart.
Where tears may rush,
Another plate of troubles and tribulations.
Raising mountains that I cannot climb,
Causing serious earthquakes in my heart.
I’m a loner, an isolated man.
Because my volcanic gestures and reactions,
Had made people, abandon me.
Mandlenkosi, we’ve met felicitously,
Not to clap hands,
For this unserviceable,
Nupty and smark headed,
War hawk.
He can’t turn our plans to vain,
A minger to us won’t matter.
For the days of suffocation,
Have come,
Days of smothering will pass.
You are my oba
I’m the oloye.
