The burden of loving this baby weighed him down like the chains that had shackled his forebears. And hers.

I’ve watched mothers  / Break into rivers / Before their children’s / Sprawled bodies.

It was too late. We had tasted sin and seen that the repercussions were unclear and improbable.

Then I heard blog posts made money for writers. Like every click they got converted to money, like Linda Ikeji's blog. “When Google Ads enter your blog like this, you will blow.” So I tried blogging. I didn’t blow. 

Are you a bot?

It is one of those mornings when you wake up with your troubles staring you in the eye.

Ignore the temptation to acknowledge that as you grow older, the country’s thorns grow younger. Live like a bird. Do not think of the future.

Once my life was brilliant with you in it

Dear Levi,

Four weeks ago, I buried my bracelet, my ring, and my baby.

When the sun came back/ I was a full tree/with all the room in the desert to grow,

I hope when they take my picture/I am filtered with bright exposure

The sun shone brightly as if the ancestors themselves smiled upon the day.

Stigmata on his hands/ a needle in his vein

When the Black man ruled this land, things were very different. You see, me, I’m the brother of the wind; I am the altered destiny.’

The Quality of Mercy is one of the finest books from Africa, and with it, Siphiwe has positioned herself as an important [African] writer

A small portion of your wings / Housefly, lies here before my eyes.

Here eats young and old.

As soon as the smoke dispersed, a gorgeous woman with glowing dark skin was standing there.

We become our parents’ dreams. / We must now find a way to be free.

Maybe these streets swallow us whole