balcony and window panes collecting moon drops
when sky crops hope to the forlorn.
embodiment of other things willing to live longer.
eternity has a name and it’s called flowers that are more gentle
like song in its best chorus.
a lover whose palms irrelevant to the blossoming flowers
dancing moves always want to run away from this garden where
a gardener has mastered the art of digging graves.
petals have learnt a new language of withering when tears
are scholars to a broken sea.
a lover always wants to collect the bouquet to apply for amnesty to a
bruised face and tattered tongue.
these flowers woven together by torn fabrics of the wounded rainbow
this garden is no longer a home for the yearning will to love again.
the gardener has a storm coded to his temperament
religion is far beyond when he breathes words which were a collection of
the flower has a name and its a sister attached to an abusive relationship,
a mother holding onto vows that spells forever from silent afflictions of sad things.
now these flowers are laying silent on a casket to a body carved dead from the hands of a
Tshediso is a poet from the free state in Kroonstad