Poetry et al

I write my poems in black ink set against some white floppy paper.

I write my poems in the deep barrels of a human affected heart.

I write my poems at night when I cannot see the humming bird or safely walk the Joburg streets.

I write my poems in english but conjure them in my native Pondo.

I write my poems with the sound of sirens, when all my loves love is lost and that new born baby dies.

I write my poems even when the knowledge of happines escapes me, when my audience frowns at me and the rain stains my script.

Sometimes I imagine a poem, sometimes I dream a poem, sometimes I feel a poem- and then I go and write the poem.

I don't have time
to make it rhyme
all the while
I write my style.

But now all lost for words, now when my ink run dry, now when my sleep draw near-

I still write my poem!