A year's cycle later,
Its my day of birth

If i fix it
If i apologise
If i repent
If its not right its not right

A planted seedling such is life
Under the heft of the soil
Darkness from the sun
Feeling earth the burden
Yearning for photosynthesis
To breakthrough
The beginning of new life
Striving Underground
Does not mean theres no growth
All this work is not seen by thyself even
By the time it shows , its rooted
Roots bare the stem
Harvest born from experience

So young yet so old as i
I may be a wild plant  but I pollinated you
You have my intellect
I have your wisdom
Such an old spirit
How can i foresake the gods,
Knowing they have channeled you through me
Destiny is pre-destined
Thus called gift of the present
You may love me,
I must love you
You and i have a bond stronger than telepathy
If i complete this cycle of life then such is life
Fact is you are the future,
Noone wants an imbalanced one
I didnt nurture you so nurture yourself like i had to do just like you

I of Africa, Africa for i
Are my ancestor, my future generation
My grandfather, my grandmother
My father , my mother
My brother, my sister
My nephew, my niece
My uncle, my aunt
My cousin, my neighbour
My son, my daughter
My root, my stem
My spirituality , my beliefs
Are the air i breathe,
Are the water i drink,
Are the food i eat,
My seasons, my memories
My happiness, my love
My experience, my wisdom
Africa you are me and i, you

she casts her pencil like a wand as magic soaks into the page her flannel cascades around her work, shielding it from curious eyes she tilts her head to listen to the lecture, but her heart is elsewhere running through castles and stumbling through candle lit streets colors tangle to mirror the expanse of her dreams she shares her soul with every meticulous stroke each face blessed by her style but never the same when she designs she never aims for perfection for she knows perfect is just a fancy way of saying flawed she erases and redraws as if her art could never satisfy her desires it can always be better but it is never good enough if only she knew I meant it when I told her I loved her drawing her art speaks to me like Mona Lisa never could

Online posts ,
Not the post office
Emails,
Not the post office
Courier services at our door step,
Drones with deliveries,
New applications called "Apps"
Even put santa clause out of business
Not the post office
Ordering online with payments online
Paper trailing the postmaster office
With no cash injection
Why stand in line when you can checkout
Video calls and skype
Not one for the hype, office of the post
People are working from home,
Still battling with retrenchment and unemployment
Surviving debt-review and business-rescue and budget-cuts
This life also needs adjustments to adaptation,
Post occurances to befit currents
Like cold war office, post world war