Above high ridges of ignorance
Here I am clothed with shade
Unable to flow and fly
Above the dusty hills of my life
Yes I am voiceless
It is because of that summer Friday
That summer which helmeted me with hell
Ending shelving all my climbing speeches
I am hooked within the water travels
With my tone brutally changed
Who will monitor those abusive touches?
Who will name those disasters of the past?
Who will minister those lonely souls?
Who will heal those false stories of my background?
As their lips are swelling with lies
My skin is tight and grilled
Grilled with no record of its belongings
As the fire keeps on spraying the drought
Drought which compiles competitions
Oh yes, I am an exhibit of fire flames
Sipho M Mdumbe (South Africa)