Psalm 196,Verse 4
Death of an angel is tantamount to empty stomachs being told to wait for the forthcoming breeze,
Heaven’s floor still wet with tears of mother in the squatter camps, God comes once in a Twilight.
No hymns to give only tithes.
A preacher talks in tongues, a church singer gets lost in translation.
She falls, body building blocks of those who moved the spirit of praise.
Our heroes are sang as memories when they are dead,
A mother, empty home
God forgets sometimes our daily bread comes from paper and plastic.
A poet from Kroonstad and a lover of literature