There is a barber shop built on the ashes of Babylon,
where men lose their ******* with shame that skip to the fourth kid,

There once was place where Samson's hairstyle was a treasure map.
A place where lost man travel
Where David found no stone
where Noah built an Ark but storm never came.

When we pass through that place even the stars we use for direction disappear.

I want to be a Black verse
Living off the society’s expectations,
I want to be a Free verse
Redefine this hypocrisy called democracy.

When I grow up,
I will be an exposed poem, with stanzas like a book of secrete.

A journey from Soweto to Jozi have turned a suicide note,
Written like a poem through every inch the Shosholoza cover.

We survive anyway,
With the apartheid legacy written on our bleeding skins,
The rainbow nations I have seen are the slashes painted on my father’s skin.

Every day we survive crime, ***, cancer and the brutality of our own negative thoughts.