We sat at a roof restaurant in perfect silence
enjoying the view, the company
and the inexpensive juice
How could you not.
You came over to my side
and we took pictures cheek to cheek
smiling ear to ear.
I printed the picture and stuck it on my wall
Tonight sitting on my hard-knock floor
listening to down and out blues
I stare up at the picture
Your hair short
Your glasses on.
A mosquito has landed just right in the middle of your smile
giving the illusion of gapped teeth.
How much you look like my mama from here
My dear Zindzile — my heart is in the Highlands
My heart is not here
My heart is in the Highlands–my love my dear
At a highway crossroads
Leading out of this City
There is a tiny little park
Where maidservants on their off day
go to meet their sweethearts.
Amidst the noise and dust
the fumes of the passing cars
the shrubs and trees
which might have otherwise been beautiful
are coated with thick dust.
Intimacy is brewed and thrives here
every sunny Sunday afternoon,
and one passes by without taking notice
only once in a while an estranged heart such as mine
stops to wonder with admiration
how this love thrives and holds its own
in this noisy, dusty and soulless city of ours.
There was a dance last night
In the village square
my beloved was there
Tents were pitched
And music was set
Old ditties and sensual rimes–
Which made girls blush
and old maids looks reprove–
While I hummed the lovelorn blues.
My beloved was standing there.–
Ecstatically watching the dances–
Lacking the courage to speak
And the talent to dance
I circled around the throbbing ground
With the light of the moon
And from a distance
Our shadows kissed in the sand