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You asked me about my homeland,
But I refused to tell you.
The confinement of words is not enough to express the tangible freedom this city radiates.
You know what they say, seeing is believing.
So accompany to Devil's Peak where the smoke of perseverance will fill our lungs and clear our heads.
Let me take you to the beach where the smell of inequality and segregation still lingers in the air.
Let us stand atop Lion's Head, listening to the long forgotten roars of triumph from moments passed.
We'll take the Red Bus and discover so many wonderfull places.
You wouldn't be able to resist falling in love with this city.
Let us stand atop Table Mountain, taking in the beauty this city has to offer, breathing in the smell of fynbos.
We'll leap with the springboks,
Hunt with the lions,
And paint the sky with the Blue Cranes.
We'll look back on 1994 and relish in the improvement this city has undergone.
The lights of the city burn bright when the sun sets.
It will always lead us back home.
Lastly, come with me to District Six, where the houses represents just how much of a Rainbow nation we are.

This is South Africa.
This is Cape Town.
This is freedom.
This poem was written about my home, Cape Town, South Africa, for Heritage Day.
1 | 31 Poems for August

I want to do more than just write poetry.
I want to paint pictures.
So be my muse and surrender your body as my canvas.
I’ll make every single swift stroke bring you to life.
I’ll show you what this brush of mine is capable of.
You are the sun that my sky yearns to hold.
Beautiful cocoa butter skin.
Your beauty is not only found on your exterior but every single place within.
I want to insert my poems in every single atom in this galaxy.
So that you can feel my love wherever you go.
From Pretoria to Toronto.
From Jo’burg to Moscow.
From Cape Town to Glasgow.
Static thoughts and kinetic conversations inspire my flow.
I have thoughts that my words cannot describe and I wish to share them with the world.
I wish to share them with you.
I love the way your eyes see past my smile and deep into the fibres of my soul.
I love the way your smile makes me whole.
Let’s become a poem our friends can always snap their fingers to.
I want to hold your body the way canvas portrays paint.
I want to kiss your lips while I gently hold your waist.
I want to do more than just write poetry.
I want to tell the world about you.
Let me tell the world about you.
First poem for the 31 Poems for August series.
Sydney Victoria Mar 2014
A Sky Of Melted Butter,
Harbors The Setting Sun,
Suspending It Above,
Flustered Waves Of Blue

I Smell Like The Sea

The Sails Against The Sky,
Have Turned To Silhouettes,
The Gentle Waves Caressing,
The Edge Of The Horizon  

I Taste Like The Sun

Seabirds Have Flocked Together,
And Are Now Flying Back To Shore,
Slumber Has Teased Their Eyelids,
For The Jaded Waters Are Vast

I Look Like The Stars

The Moon Has Floated Upwards,
Casting An Ivory Shadow Below,
The Wind Has Now Become Calm,
The Blue Waves Have Become Still

I Sound Like The Breeze

The Salt Encrusted Wind Cooled;
The Sky Was No Longer Gold,
Sails No Longer Dragged Their Cargo,
Across The Blackest Of Ocean Waters

If You Were To Touch My Soul,
You Would Only Grasp A Word.


Home

*© Sydney Victoria 2014
I Have Pondered About The Word Home Many Times In My Life. I Oftentimes Grasp The Concept Of Home When I Feel As If I Have Escaped Into Another World, One Where I Truly Belong. When I Went To South Africa, I Found My Home.  At Heart, I Think I May Be African.

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