Not a breath of air,
The world around me hangs motionless.
Waiting, waiting in anticipation.

Flora trying to remain worthy and proud,
Struggling and waiting in the still, heavy air.
Waiting in anticipation.

Fauna lying in the shadows,
Mustering the courage to look alive.
Waiting, waiting in anticipation.

Each day turns darker, the skies bulkier,
Waiting to burst, but impenetrable and dense.
They too ... waiting, waiting.

When?  Minutes pass bye,
Then hours and days.
When?  Waiting.

Each being holding on,
Holding their breath, striving for the feel of damp.
Ans still waiting.

Today?  No.  Tomorrow then?
No, how much longer can we hold on?
Today becomes tomorrow and tomorrow the day after.
Waiting, waiting in anticipation.

Can't you see
the dark side?
Bright like the moon
Consider the facts. Just
For the art of it.
What's in his style?
side by side by side
"Can't you see it"
Its a hexahedron
with an ism
How modern
is modern art?
This abstract form
forms from subtraction
"Today, the truth is
on display."
- Sandile

I cried these dirges brashly,
After these long nights
While my skin cracks;
Irrigating it with my dry tears
By the desperate harmattan;
My cries are a rustling of leaves under a sun
That never fades- washing my face in strict rays
Its attendance is long overstayed;
Resting on my absent mind

I sit outside in the world’s
Quick-witted; criticizing eyes
Weeping proudly without a rush of blinking tears;
This everyday world isn’t my beloved home to own-
A shelter neglecting to cover my nakedness

I sit outside in the world’s
Quick-witted; criticizing eyes
With a tiny cloth left damp, sodden and weary
By the stretched tears flowing down my bare *******
The world quickly suckles on my grief –
Biting, pulling, and scarring them by their buds
calling it all fair by its, “Budding remarks”
With the goalmouth of getting itself full up;
Never nursing the agony.  

                     Oh, how my heart hurts!

From the lofty snowcapped peaks
of Kilimanjaro
The morning mist envelopes its verdant foothills in a tight embrace,
No need to hurry, this is not a race,
Beads of sunlight dancing across the glistening dew.

As the plains of Amboseli reveal their golden hue,
There's movement spied where none existed moments prior,
A herd of Zebra lounging in their elegant attire,
The lush grasslands beckoning them for yet another day.

The few Wildebeest amongst them if only they could talk they'd say,
We're happy to be safe in this weird and motley crowd,
Despite the fact these Zebras are so boisterous and loud,
What's a little banter when the promise is of grazing in contented peace.

Double is their luck as the pert Egyptian geese
Act as wary Sentinels, their honks resounding loud,
Alerted by the pride of crouching lions, their countenance so proud,
Scouting for that meal for their young to feed.

A Wildebeest or two would fill those hunger pangs indeed,
Were it not for those Hyenas prowling on their scent,
To steal their hard-fought prize definitely hell bent,
Neither party cowered, neither will give
ground.

But what's a little tiff when prey does so abound,
A fragile land of bounty, God's country that's for sure,
Where every single creature finds ways to gainfully endure,
Africa in all its glory, nature’s living work of art.

Gorgeous Africa, my beautiful Queen
of a thousand unspoken dreams, whose essence
encapsulates the history and heartache of past struggles
—your tears of past, drown your face in drought,
mirroring the resilience and strength that lie
within your vast landscapes and diverse cultures.

Oh land, oh the lands of dusty colored grass,
presenting a canvas painted with stories as ancient
as time itself —the tale of you; a dossal woven with
the threads of triumphs and tribulations,
each chapter a testament to the enduring spirit
of a continent shaped by the ebb and flow of empires
rising and falling.

You, a child in my eyes, a precious gem awaiting
the embrace of nurturing hands and the light of
understanding —desperately needing to be cherished
and loved, your myriad voices and narratives
seeking to rise above the clamor of past
injustices and carved destinies.

Rise, my child, rise high and so mighty,
until your presence eclipses all doubts and shadows,
a beacon of hope and empowerment for all who call
your vast expanse home —lift her up, lift her up-
her people, a call to unity and support in the
collective journey towards a future shaped by
shared dreams and aspirations.

As she is mine, she is ours to cherish and protect,
a legacy that intertwines our fates and whispers of
a shared destiny waiting to be fulfilled
—lift her up, lift her up- her people, for in her
beauty and complexity, we find the reflection of
our shared humanity and interconnection.

When your skin is darker than your past, you'll find
yourself instinctively seeking shade, avoiding the scorching
rays of the sun that seem to tarnish its complexion.
Its once radiant appearance now tinged with the remnants
of the flames, forever leaving a mark.
You may feel that all your imperfections persist, yearning
to be acknowledged and embraced, yet often remaining
unnoticed by the oblivious eyes of the world.
You, my dear, have become a surreal spectacle, captivating
the gaze of many with your unique blend of beauty and vulnerability.

In this collective exchange of glances, you discover
a remarkable unity, a deep connection that transcends
mere superficiality. It is as if each shared look weaves
together the threads of our lives, binding us in a profound
state of matrimony, where understanding and acceptance intertwine.

As we stand together, lost in the enigmatic origins of life,
it becomes apparent that your skin holds a story, an
uninterrupted lineage that stretches back through time.
It is a tapestry of ancestral struggles and triumphs, a testament
to resilience and fortitude. And like the night that envelops
the world, your dusky guardian complexion bears witness
to the strength and beauty that lies within.

But let us not be judged solely by what meets the eye.
Peel back this outer layer, delve deeper into who we truly are,
and you will discover hearts that beat with the same
tenderness, dreams that flourish within the obscure depths of
our souls. Don't let the label of "African child,"
confine us to a predetermined destiny; instead, let it be
a celebration of our heritage, a recognition of the richness
and diversity that flows through our veins.

So, my dear, as we navigate our way through this complex
and ever-changing world, let your skin be a canvas,
not only for the painted white of eyes that might cast
judgments, but for the genuine smiles that radiate from within.
Embrace your darkness, your unique hue, and let it stand
as a testament to the vibrant spirit that resides in the
depths of your being.

my love,

just give me this day,
                                   as if we are airplanes, parading, and
flying in between the clouds,
                               gray sky,
clooooouuuuuuds,
like in those black-and-white (II war) documentaries,


i promise,
               not to add other colors to them,
why should i,
                     when the original is the original,  and
it has to remain original,


my love, what is the point in watching colored war movies,
when Africa, like a fire,  was coughed up in the middle